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ECHOES 
FROM THE GRANGE. 



BY 

ISABEL AMBLER OILMAN 
Author of "By Reason's Light," and other Poems. 



MANCHESTER, N. H. 

PRINTED BY THE JOHN B. CLARKE CO. 
1906. 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Recdved 

MAR 15 1906 

<f? Coayriffht Entry / 
CLASS ^^XXc.No. 
' ^ COPY B. 






It 



^<^&^ 



Cop7jright, 1901, 
By ISABEL AMBLER OILMAN. 

Copyright, 1906. 
By ISABEL AMBLER OILMAN. 



2^ 






To my Brother and Sister Grangfers, 

Who are Strivrng: for the Intellectual, Moral, Physical, 

and Social Welfare of their Fellow Beings. 



CONTENTS, 
PART J. 

Pago 

Echoes II 

The Western Hemisphere 12 

The Husbandman 18 

Flurries 21 

Modern Philosophy 22 

The Birth and Progress of a Nation 28 

A New Hampshire Snowstorm 32 

Just a Smile 35 

The Awakening 36 

The Palace by the Sea 39 

Oilman Hill 45 

Grange Song 47 

New Point Comfort Camp 49 

Aunt Dorothy's Christmas Eve 51 

Lillian 56 

The Silver Lining 57 

Our Grange Anniversary S9 

Our Heroes 61 

The Message 63 

The Dream Vision 65 

The Vaster Truth 72 

Sunrise and Sunset 76 



CONTENTS. 
PART II. 

Page 

A Burglar Story 79 

A Matrimonial Opportunity 83 

The Brave Young Man from Boston 85 

The Old Grange Horse 86 

Professor Spoutem's Great Hit 88 

Rural Free Delivery 92 

The Bashful Granger 93 

Cupid's Summer Outing 95 

The Summer Boarders Have Gone Away .... 98 

Billy's Soliloquy TOO 

The Race Problem . 103 

Natural Gas 105 

Contempt of Court 108 

Broncho Pete iio 

Roughing It 113 

The Passing of the Passenger Agent 118 

The Critic's Advice 121 

Two of a Kind 123 

Lent 124 

The Lost Cap 126 

Maud's Excuse 127 

Violets . 128 

Throw the Blues Away 130 

A Vacation Story 131 

The Presidents 132 

O Spare the Forests! 134 

What is the Grange? 135 

The Things We 're Going to Do 137 

Our Order, Patrons of Husbandry 140 

Getting Experience 143 



ECHOES FROM THE GRANGE. 
PART I. 



ECHOES. 

The air is full of messages, 

Of echoes sweet and clear; 
The wind is ever whispering 

Its secrets to the ear; 
In symphonies and wordless songs 

The world of Nature sings, 
Each thought wave from the great beyond 

A wealth of knowledge brings; 
And these the gleams of light that flash 

Across the poet's brain 
And strike the keyboard of the soul, 

Producing a refrain, — 
A melody of love or mirth, 

An ecstasy sublime, 
A naked truth, a ripened thought, — 

In garb of simple rhyme. 



12 THE WESTEBN HEMISPHERE. 



THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE. 

Four hundred years have passed away since by the eastern 
breeze 

The spirit of the white unrest was borne across the seas, 
Since first expansionists sailed forth an ocean to explore 
And planted old world banners all along the red man's shore. 

The seeds of independence among those of conquest sown 

Produced the flag of liberty we proudly call our own. 
The tide of progress flowing west, increasing year by year, 
Hath made a white man's garden of the western hemisphere. 

Behold the mighty continent that stretches from the pole 
Down to those lonely regions where the southern oceans roll 
In solitude and majesty around that bleak Cape Horn, 
Unchanged today as when they first beheld creation's dawn. 

This land is known as the New World, though new in naught 
but name; 

'T was here for untold centuries before explorers came. 
And peopled, too, by many tribes who lived and loved and died 
And left behind some landmarks strange which time and 
storms defied: 

Mysterious mounds and castled cliflfs tell of another, day 

When this land saw the rise and fall, the flourish and decay, 
Of nations partly civilized, whose relics now we see, — 
The voiceless emblems of a great unwritten history. 



THE WESTERN HEMISPHEBE. 13 

Here 's Canada, the western star of England's royal crown. 

Fair Canada, our neighbor friend of trading post renown. 
The great Dominion of the North, the land of rugged health, 
Of scenery magnificent, of energy and wealth. 

The land of furs and fisheries, of forests and of farms. 
Of western opportunities and great commercial charms. 
The land of frozen rivers and unbroken realms of snow, 
Of dreary, trackless, northern wastes where Arctic breezes 
blow; 
Enormous stretch of coast line, and of ice-blocked regions wide. 
Whose glacial barriers have so oft all human power defied. 
The undiscovered North Pole lies within that circle vast, 
'Gainst all man's ingenuity the secret is locked fast. 
The blue Pacific lies beyond that western boundary bold. 
And up there is the Klondike with its mines of precious gold. 

O Canada, fair Canada, sweet peace hath smiled on thee 
And given to thy trusty sons the blessings of the free 
In links of wisdom, friendship, love, and these the fetters are 
Which bind thy loyal people to the motherland afar. 

In Uncle Sam's peninsula the yellow nuggets grow; 

Our own Alaskan mountains those crowned with eternal snow. 
Among those bergs where polar bear and seal and walrus go, 
In Denmark's icy Greenland, dwells the little Eskimo. 

Down yonder is a land renowned for legendary lore, 
For prehistoric ruins and antiquities galore; 

For bull fights and volcanoes, silver ore and filigree; 

The famous land of Mexico that tourists love to see. 



14 THE WESTEEN HEMISPHERE. 

And south of Mexico we find a long and narrow chain 
Of small republics that were once the glory of old Spain. 

The British own this place, Balize; and through the isthmus 
here 

Some day an ocean waterway shall split the hemisphere, 
And from her grave to world-wide fame fair Panama shall rise 
Triumphant, while o'er her canal the starry banner flies. 

The western route Columbus sought shall be attained at last, 

Across the Sea of Darkness to the spice isles of the past. 



The famed West Indian islands these where reefs of coral grow; 
They lie within the tropic clime where hurricanes oft blow. 

And here in the Pacific are our own Hawaiian isles; 

Upon their wealth of sugar-cane luxuriant Nature smiles. 

And this is South America, our sister continent, 

Whose western shore is mountainous almost the whole extent; 
From Panama down to Cape Horn in lofty, rugged chains, 
The Andes rear their massive heads above the eastern plains. 

Volcanoes vomit forth at times with dull, terrific roar. 

And down their sides the fiery streams of boiling lava pour. 
There flows the mighty Amazon beneath its torrid sky, 
Lake Titicaca slumbers here twelve thousand feet on high. 

The condor nests among these cliffs, that king of monstrous 
birds, 

On Patagonia pampas grass feed countless flocks and herds. 
Here grow the ornamental woods treasured in lands afar; 
Through these Brazilian forests roams the savage jaguar; 

Gay parrots chatter overhead, bright birds and monkeys small, 

And through the dense, dank underbrush enormous reptiles 
crawl. 



THE WESTEBN HEMISPHEBE. 15 

O land of South America, the story of thy life 
Shows misdirected energy and fierce internal strife; 
Thy efforts at development oft marred by jealousy 
'Mong thy volcanic governments that lack stability. 
The gleams of ancient splendors, when the Incas chiefs held 

sway. 
Shine from the ruined altars of a strange, barbaric day. 
The records of thy servitude, the blending of the race, 
The struggles of the conquerors their thraldom to efface. 
The birth of thy republics 'neath the star of liberty, 
Are writ across the blood-smeared page of New World history. 



A land of future greatness is this southern continent, 
Where tropic indolence unites with fiery temperament; 
A land of vast resources half developed everywhere, 
Of fertile soil, abundant crops, and minerals rich and rare; 
A land of busy seaports and of cities in the skies. 
Of rapid strides of progress and awakened enterprise. 
A new world power, O sister land, tomorrow's sun shall find, 
And friendship's chain for common weal shall thy republics 
bind. 



Would you behold the fairest spot in all this great domain, 

The gem of the Americas, where peace and plenty reign, 
Where education flourishes and claims the right of way, 
And every citizen 's a king, and common sense has sway? 

Look westward, then, three thousand miles, o'er this great land 
of ours, 

And see a country unsurpassed among earth's greatest powers. 



16 THE WESTERN HEMISPHEBE. 

From east to west a vast expanse, three thousand miles and 

more 
From where our own Atlantic rolls to that Pacific shore. 

From north to south our Rockies rear their snow-capped 
peaks on high, 

The wealth of ages yet to come within their bosoms lie. 
And fertile plains, plateaus and vales, on every side abound, 
And busy mills are humming with the products of the ground. 

With wires and shining rails of steel our land is girded o'er; 

From gulf to lake, from sea to sea, we hear the engines roar. 
In ports and harbors round our coast the merchant vessels wait, 
And tireless ferry-boats discharge their loads of human freight. 

From morn till night the signs and sounds of busy life appear 

In every section of our land all seasons of the year. 



The earth reverberates with noise. 'T is the Creator's plan 
That Nature yield her fruitage at the magic touch of man; 

And all the signs and sounds we hear are part of Nature's 
song, — 

The winds catch up the symphony and waft the echoes on, — 
We hear it in the raindrops and the rustling of the pine, 
The voices of the children and the lowing of the kine; 

The ringing of the school bells and the singing of the choirs, 

The shrieking of the whistles and the droning of the wires; 



The clamor of the factories and the smelter's roaring blast. 
The snorting of the engines as the trains go rumbling past; 

The laughing of the streamlets dancing down the mountain 
side, 

The murmur of the rivers flowing o'er the prairies wide; , 



THE WESTEBN HEMISFHEBE. 17 

The rippling of the waterfalls, the sighing of the lakes, 
The surging of the ocean as upon the shore it breaks; 
The grandeur of the mountains and the beauty of the hills, 
The tumult of the cities and the music of the mills; 
The gladsome sounds of commerce and the busy hum of trade 
In office, store, and workshop, where our merchandise is made; 
The strange, untiring energy, the bustle, life and stir. 
Beneath the glorious stars and stripes of Our America. 

O Grangers, cast aside your cares, and let your hearts expand 
And thrill with patriotic pride for this, our own fair land, — 
Star of the western hemisphere, gem of the temperate zone. 
Acknowledging no master power excepting God alone, — 
The land of the United States, the land of liberty, 
Where Peace and Progress guard the door and Freedom holds 
the key. 



18 THE HUSBANDMAN. 



THE HUSBANDMAN. 

I will sing you a song tonight, my friends, 

And the theme of my song shall be 
A noble unknown in the halls of fame, 

A hero of husbandry. 
I will sing of the agriculturist, 

Whose hoe is the magic key 
That unlocks the door of earth's golden store 

And feedeth humanity. 

The first of all earthly labor or craft 

Was the culture of the soil, 
For the human race is dependent on 

The fruits of the farmer's toil. 
And the teeming cities could not exist 

Were 't not for the lonely farms, — 
'T is the fruitful yield of garden and field 

That giveth life all its charms. 

'T is the rock foundation of every trade 

And the corner-stone of art; 
'T is the basis of every enterprise, 

Of progress the very heart. 
The armies of victory proudly march 

To music of fife and drum. 
But silently yield on a bloodless field. 

By famine's breath overcome. 



THE HUSBANDMAN. J!) 

As the means of physical strength and power 

'Mong all the races of men 
The hoe is a mightier weapon than 

The scepter or sword or pen; 
And the husbandman is a greater man 

Than he who weareth a crown, — 
He 's nearer to God as he turns the sod 

Than heroes of great renown. 



O the proud in their vain conceit may smile 

At his garb so coarse and mean, 
But nothing they know of the inner self, 

The shell is all they have seen; 
And the grimy clothes and the horny hands 

And the tanned and wind-stained skin 
Are the screens that hide from the eyes of pride 

The image of God within. 



O the wise may pity, the rich may scorn. 

And the foolish laugh and jeer, 
At his lack of knowledge, his frugal ways, 

And his simple, homely cheer; 
But little they know of his world of lore, — 

Of forest and hill and plain, — 
The lessons he took from Dame Nature's book 

As lord of her fair domain. 



20 THE HUSBANDMAN. 

O the farmer's ways are the ways of health, 

And honest are his desires; 
With the strength of the hills his being thrills 

And his soul to heaven aspires. 
O bravely he follows the lowly path 

That Nature's nobles have trod 
To the sweet content of a life well spent 

And a resting place with God. 



FLUBR1E8. 21 



FLURRIES. 

The wild March winds a gale did blow, 

The storm clouds drifted overhead, 
The air was filled with blinding snow. 
"O what a dreary world!" I said, 
"There is no comfort in it!" 
The sun shone forth all bright and warm 
And every vestige of the storm 
Had vanished in a minute. 

My heart was filled with bitter care, 

With blighted hopes and wounded pride; 
My soul was plunged in dark despair. 
And in my misery I cried, 

"What is the use of trying!" 
The eyes I love looked into mine, 
A tender gleam of hope divine, 
And sorrows went a-flying. 



22 MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 



MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 

As the centuries rolling onward years of riper knowledge bring, 
To the people of the earthworld cometh an awakening; 

As the veil of mental darkness falleth from the faith blind 
eyes 

Human minds begin to reason, doubts and questionings arise. 

Independent thought is kindled as each wave of learning rolls 
'Mong the eager, active masses vitalizing hearts and souls; 

Thus their mental view expanding, they are asking Why? and 
How? 

Old-time customs, creeds and dogmas, satisfy no longer now. 

Superstition fades and dwindles in the light of common sense 
As the mass of thinking people to their thoughts give utterance; 
From their individual wisdom questioning replies are given, 
And the clouds around life's problems one by one are pierced 
and riven. 

Hark unto the swell of voices by the winds of Truth upcaught, 

Startling in its strength and volume, 't is the trend of Modern 

Thought. 

"Shall we hide among the shadows of the dim, uncertain past, 

When the glorious beams of morning o'er our paths their 

radiance cast? 



MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 23 

"Shall we yield in act and conscience to some fellow mortal's 

sway, 
When we feel a holier power pointing to life's broad highway? 
Shall we drink of stagnant waters while pure springs are 

bubbling by? 
Contemplate the Master's wisdom but to limit and deny?" 

"What is this men call religion?" 'T is mankind's acknowledg- 
ment 

Of a God, eternal Father, infinite, omnipotent: 
Adoration for a Being whose existence hath no end. 
Reverence for a greater Something than we fully comprehend. 

"What is worship?" 'T is the God force dwelling in us called 
the soul. 

Reaching ever out and upward to the greater parent Whole: 
In accord with Nature's workings 't is the human spark divine 
Seeking outlet or expression in some earthly form or sign. 

"What is prayer?" 'T is thought communion with the Deity 

supreme 
Opening up the mind for influx of the true life-giving stream: 
Asking aid from God the Father, strength for every righteous 

deed; 
Realizing spirit guidance, kinship in the hour of need. 

Hark unto the people crying, "Light we seek, for we would 

know 
Which of all the forms of worship in the earthworld here below 

Is the absolutely true one by the great Creator blest; 

And if one alone is perfect, which, and what are all the rest?" 



24 MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 

As the sunlight flashes earthward in a multitude of rays 
So men worship their Creator in a hundred different ways. 
If the human soul responds with homage at its Maker's call, 
Then the cause of all devotion is the object of it all. 

"Do the souls of unbelievers perish with their earthly shell? 

Are transgressors unrepentant doomed to everlasting hell?" 
If the God-born spark surviveth and things earthly perish here 
Then no earth planned retribution entereth the spirit sphere. 

"Was the man formed in God's image type of all the human 

race, — 
White and black and red and yellow, — and each heart His 
dwelling-place?" 
If the tendency to worship proves a spirit force within, 
All are equally God's children whatsoe'er the outward skin. 

"If there is but one religion, all paths to the one God lead, — 
Why this struggle for conversion, saving souls by change of 
creed?" 
Whatsoe'er a man believeth, that to him is real and true; 
Generously the thinker strives to share with all his point of 
view. 

"When the earthworld God divided into water, land and space, 
Fashioned every living creature and assigned to each a place, 

Was this work of distribution by the Father wisely done? 

Did the gifts bestowed upon them meet the needs of every 



MODEBN PHILOSOPHY. 23 

Every form of life fulfilleth some wise purpose in the main, 
None could thrive without the other, all are links in Nature's 
chain. 
Life is subject to restrictions, consciousness must yield to 

mind, 
Instinct in the brute creation, soul immortal in mankind. 



Thus God gave man understanding, power of speech, and self- 
control. 
Made him ruler of the earthworld and endowed him with a soul. 
To the end that all things living should be subject to man's 

will, 
And that man himself do homage to a higher power still. 



"If He gave the earthworld's fruitage as a natural food supply. 
All her beauties and her treasures human needs to satisfy. 
What is thought, imagination?" Windows to the life beyond. 
Soul food for the spirit cravings to which dust doth not 
respond. 



"Why this ever constant yearning for some other sphere of life? 
Whence desire for earthly riches, envious discontent and strife?" 

'T is the conflict 'tween the spirit and the flesh or human 
pride; 

Souls neglected or imprisoned never can be satisfied: 



26 MODEBN PHILOSOPHY. 

Limited, imperfect knowledge graspeth not the all-wise plan, 
By denying spirit forces human thoughts control the man: 
Those who disregard the spirit, keenly conscious of their loss, 
Try to sooth the mind with baubles, compensation seek in 
dross. 



"When of earthly dust He made us, quickened with His living 

breath, 
Gave us power of reproduction and condemned us all to death. 
Made He any reservation of a vague and doubtful kind 
For an after-death existence that a few choice souls should 
find?" 



Those whose realm of thought is bounded by a straight and 

narrow way 
Know but one of all the pictures of the vast eternal day: 
\l the essence we call spirit is undying and divine 
Then the souls of all departed must have passed beyond the 
line. 



"What the object of our efforts to enrich the human mind? 

What the end and aim of knowledge if one fate awaits man- 
kind?" 
As the earthworld vegetation turneth to the sunshine bright 
So the souls of men are ever turning eagerly to light. 



MODES N FHILOSOPHY. 27 

Flowers increase in size and beauty through the power of sun 

and rain, 
Usefulness and strength and fragrance human minds through 
knowledge gain. 
Nature yields her precious secrets for mankind's enlightened 

use; 
Blessings spring from laws regarded, suffering comes from 
their abuse. 



In our earth life evolution the experience we acquire 

Lights the path for other mortals, wins for us a circle higher; 

Opens up a glorious vista of the spirit world above; 

Makes our present life a heaven ruled by universal love. 



28 THE BIETH AND PBOGBESS OF A NA TION. 



THE BIRTH AND PROGRESS OF A NATION. 

A mighty continent lay sleeping 

In an unknown western sea. 
The stars their silent watches keeping 
O'er a world of savagery. 
"Let there be light!" 
Behold, the Master spake, the people heard. 
And, lo! in many lands, hearts strangely stirred, 
For this was night. 

Adventurers in rude crafts sailing 

Westwardly the ocean o'er 
Saw a strange coast; the glad sight hailing, 
Landed on that vmknown shore. 
The tidings spread; 
The wondrous news at length all Europe learned; 
To that strange land her longing eyes were turned 
Where men were red. 



A scattered fleet of vessels tossing 

On the trackless ocean wide; 
A restless throng of people crossing. 
Caring not for storm or tide. 
For danger naught; 
Some to explore and some found colonies. 
Adventure, freedom, wealth, beyond the seas, 
Was what they sought. 



THE BIBTR AND PBOGBESS OF A NATION. 29 

On forest trees their axes ringing, 

Homes to build and land to clear; 
A happy band of people singing, 
Free from persecution here 
Of scourge or rod: 
These were the brave New England pioneers, 
The Pilgrim Fathers of those early years. 
Who worshiped God. 



Gaunt men with savage hordes contending. 

Wild beasts ever on their track; 
Faithful women often lending 
Aid to quell a night attack: 
In strife and toil 
Those early settlers lived and spent their days: 
With faith sublime they sang their hymns of praise 
And tilled the soil. 



A monarch's subjects bending, straining, 

'Neath unjust oppression's yoke; 
The filial love that bound them waning 
Until quivering it broke 
One July morn. 
The Old World watched, aghast, with bated breath; 
Columbia rose baptized in blood and death, — 
Freedom was born. 



30 THE BIB TH AND PB OGRES OF A NA TION. 

An independent nation growing 
Rapidly in strength and size; 
The seeds of progress ever sowing, 
One by one new stars arise 
And brightly shine. 
From every land on earth, as time wore on, 
Came the oppressed to join this Union strong; 
Freedom divine. 



A shadow o'er the Southland hanging 

Of a race in slavery, 
And northern swords in battle clanging. 
"In this land all must be free, 
Both black and white. 
For perfect freedom doth the Union stand." 
A wave of bloodshed swept throughout the land 
And then came Light. 



The light of knowledge softly stealing 

O'er the land from shore to shore. 
Uplifting, blending, and revealing 

Strength and power unknown before; 
Uniting hearts. 
Developing our vast resources here 
And opening up new markets year by year 
In other parts. 



THE BIBTH AND PROGRESS OF A NATION. 31 

On foreign shores our soldiers landing 

One downtrodden race to aid; 
In freedom's rightful cause expanding 
We a great world power were made: 
And higher rose 
The stars and stripes among earth's banners fair, 
Winning respect from nations everywhere, 
From friends and foes. 



The years of progress onward sweeping 
O'er the world hath left their mark; 
Some nations in the front ranks kee^jing. 
Others groping in the dark, 
Shrunken in size. 
We were the youngest in the century race, 
But with the foremost now we take our place 
Among the wise. 

United States! O glorious nation, 

That in wisdom would increase, 
Worldward from its lofty station 
Shed the blessed light of Peace! 
In our new might 
We bow, O Lord, unto thy sovereign will, 
And humbly ask of Thee to guide us still 
And give us Light. 



32 A NEW HAMPSHIRE SNO WSTOBM. 



A NEW HAMPSHIRE SNOWSTORM. 

The clouds that hung o'er Ossipee 

In sullen darkness frowned, 
A deepening gloom obscured the crests 

Of all the hills around; 
Winnipesaukee's surface blue 
Assumed a dull and leaden hue, 
And Belknap Mountain passed from view 

'Mid silence most profound. 



Wolfeborough and Tuftonborough Neck 

In distance shrunk away; 
Bear Island faded out of sight 

Among the shadows gray; 
The storm clouds lowered like a pall, 
A deathlike stillness over all, 
And thick and fast the snowflakes fall 

On grim old Ossipee. 

The somber shadows nearer came 

And Red Hill disappeared. 
And lake and pond and neighboring farms 

Grew indistinct and bleared; 
Yet not a breath, or sound, or sigh. 
The maples looked like monsters high, 
And dark against the threatening sky 

Their heads the poplars reared. 



A 2/EW HAMPSHIBE IS NO WS TO EM. S3 

Walled in on every side by dense, 

Impenetrable gloom, 
A veil of snow hung over us 

Like some impending doom. 
The clouds at length began to weep, 
And down the frozen teardrops creep, 
Till Mother Earth lay buried deep 

Within her winter tomb. 



Two days it snowed, and then it stopped. 

That evening, just at dark, 
The mercury took a downward plunge 

And reached the zero mark. 
Out came the moon, and its pale light 
Revealed a world of glistening white 
Beneath the great arched dome of night. 

Where gleamed one shining spark. 

New Hampshire slept. Afar there came 

A murmur faint and low, 
A trembling breeze that gently swept 

The surface of the snow; 
And then a stronger blast went by 
That snapped the twigs and branches dry 
And fiung the crystal flakes on high 

And stirred the mass below. 

The Storm King roared his battle cry, 
And forth his legions dashed; 

The forces of the elements 
In aerial warfare clashed: 



34 A NEW HAMPSHIBE SN0WST0B31. 

A moaning sob, a distant wail 
That swelled into a furious gale, 
And, thundering over hill and dale. 
Among the mountains crashed. 

The armies of the upper air 
With earthly sprites engaged 

And 'mid the freshly fallen snow 
A royal battle waged, — 

A blinding, choking, deafening storm. 

The buildings creaked in wild alarm 

As all night long around the farm 
The howling blizzard raged. 

A million demon spirits leaped 
From out the North Wind's lair, 

Caught up the feathery, flaky mass 
And tossed it in the air, 

And round and round it danced and whirled, 

In waves of foamy whiteness curled. 

Into the cuts the drifts they hurled, . 
And left the ridges bare. 

New Hampshire woke. The morning sun 

Peeped over Ossipee; 
The clouds dissolved at its approach. 

And blue replaced the gray. 
The sunbeams sparkled in delight 
And played among the crystals white. 
The air was crisp and clear and bright, 

A perfect winter day. 



JUST A SMILE. S5 



JUST A SMILE. 

Just a smile of approbation 

Costs you nothing, friend, to give; 
'T will a timid heart encourage, 

Help a shrinking soul to live. 

Just a glance of kind approval, 
Just a smile of loving cheer, 

Makes a dreary pathway brighter 
And dispels the gloom of fear. 



There are gentle natures round us 
Wounded oft by thoughtless pride; 

Generous impulse, sweet endeavor, 
Rudely spurned and pushed aside. 

Life is full of aspirations 
Nipped and frozen in the bud, 

Full of meek and lowly efforts 
Carelessly misunderstood. 

Just a smile of approbation, 
'T is the simplest of all gifts, 

But it wakes a sweeter echo 
In the soul that it uplifts. 



36 THE AWAKENING. 



THE AWAKENING. 

The night was dark, the planets few and far, 
The earthball floated in its realm of space, 

And each revolving world was but a star 
Shedding its light o'er some primeval race. 

The simple children on the earthball saw 
Those shining worlds so far above their own, 

And gazing at them, thrilled with reverent awe 
At some mysterious power, unnamed, unknown. 

To those who watched, bright gleams of knowledge came 
Revealing what most earnestly they sought; 

And they th'c shepherds of earth's tribes became, 
And Nature's laws interpreted and taught. 



With minds through holy contemplation tuned 
To that which lay beyond the earthly ken, 

They with the God of Nature oft communed. 
And taught his worship to their fellow men. 

Each shepherd taught according to the light 
Revealed, and those acknowledging his sway, 

Devoutly conscious they were doing right, 
His simple precepts hastened to obey. 



THE A WAKENING. 37 

The years rolled on. The centuries one by one, 
Each bringing light, went speeding swiftly by 

And dawn appeared. Eastward the rising sun 
With dazzling rays illumed the morning sky. 



The dusky races smiled in sweet content. 
And worshiped Nature in its form divine; 

The peaceful millions of the Orient 
In reverence bowed before great Buddha's shrine. 



The white-skinned savages of yesterday, — 
The fiery followers of the Christian God, — 

Rushed blindly on their narrow, blood-stained way, 
And taught His worship with the sword and rod. 

Their zealous shepherds saw with wondering eyes 
Earth's scattered tribes to mighty nations grown, 

And worship strange beheld in shocked surprise, 
Condemning all that differed from their own. 

The years rolled on. Fair rose the morning sun 
Lighting the byways of religious strife. 

Ten thousand shepherds took the place of one, 
And preached the gospel of Eternal Life. 

Then Knowledge poured a sweet, life-giving shower 
Upon the thirsty souls of parched mankind. 

And Reason sowed the seeds of mental power 
In the unfruitful areas of the mind. 



3S THE AWAKEA'l^G. 

The human desert put forth leaf and bud 
And blossomed in chaotic beauty wild, 

And all mankind awaking understood 
Through every symbol God Almighty smiled. 



Then rose the blessed star of Peace to shine 
For all alike, the noontide star of love, 

Filling earth lives with radiance divine. 
Lighting all pathways to the God above. 



THE PALACE BY THE SEA. 39 



THE PALACE BY THE SEA. 

In an idle moment I turn the leaves 

Of an album old and gray, 
And silently gaze at the photographs 

Of many a bygone day. 
It is Christmas Eve, and old Mother Earth 

Hath donned her mantle of white, 
And the storm-king bold doth his revels hold 

'Mong the Granite Hills tonight. 

In the light of the blazing logs I sit. 

Unmindful of storm or cold, 
And silently turn o'er the faded leaves 

And gaze at the pasteboards old: 
There are pictures of beautiful scenery 

In the Old World's fair domain, 
Of palaces grand in many a land 

Where kings and emperors reign. 

There are pictures of girlhood's home and friends 

When my heart was fancy free, 
And pomp and splendor of wealth and power 

Cast its glamour over me. 
The eyes of the dear ones I Ve loved and lost 

Smile into my own again, 
And memories wake with a sad, sweet ache, 

A blending of joy and pain. 



40 THE PALACE BY THE SEA. 

There are other pictures, the last, ah, me! 

And the ones that I love best; 
They bring me the fragrance of violets 

From the glorious, golden west. 
On the wings of fancy at eventide 

They carry me back once more 
In a mist of tears through the vanished years 

To that calm Pacific shore. 

They carry me back to the long ago 
When the world and I were young, 
And I loved to listen to wind and wave, — 

sweet were the songs they sung! 
They carry me back to a fairy spot 

1 never again shall see. 

To a palace grand in that sunny land 
That borders the sunset sea. 

the past comes back with those pictures old 
Till it seems but yesterday 

1 stood on the deck of the ferry-boat 
As it crossed the moonlit bay; 

The lights of the city grew faint behind 
And the beach loomed dark ahead 

As we glided o'er to the farther shore, 
And never a word was said. 

How well I remember the fan-leafed palms 

That bordered the avenue, 
And the hedge of roses around the curve. 

When before us rose to view 



THE PALACE B Y THE SEA. 41 

A stately palace with towers and spires, 

And a banner floating high; 
And the myriad lights from the windows bright 

Outrivaled the starlit sky. 



The murmuring swish of the ocean waves, 

A ripple of music sweet, 
The perfume of lilies and violets 

My wondering senses greet: 
From the open windows there floated out 

To mingle with ocean's roar 
A chorus of song as we passed along 

And entered the palace door. 

The seekers of pleasure were gathered there, — 

The fairest daughters of earth 
And gallants who worship at beauty's shrine, — 

And some were of noble birth: 
From the east and the west, from north and south. 

From over the sea they came; 
And warriors bold in their lace of gold, 

And talented sons of fame, 

'Mid dazzle and glitter of countless lights 

In that festooned, flowered hall 
Where the favored children of fortune met 

To dance at the Christmas ball; 
O the sparkling eyes and the flashing gems 

And shimmering, silken sheen! 
O the charm and grace in the form and face 

Of each knight and fairy queen! 



42 THE PALACE BY THE SEA. 

O the tell-tale lights in the half-closed eyes, 

As the blushes come and go 
To the whispered words of a dreamy waltz, 

As they glided to and fro! 
O the happy days in that palace fair, 

In that sunny, winter clime, 
Where our lives were spent in a sweet content 

Unspoiled by the hand of time! 

O the morning rambles along the coast, 

And the games we used to play, 
And the moonlight strolls down the old shell walk. 

And the boat rides on the bay! 
O the picnics out to the Old Mission, 

And the trips we used to go 
To La Jolla Park, and the Sweetwater, 

And into Old Mexico! 

How we loved to wander upon the sands 

Where the gentle zephyrs blow. 
And loiter about at the ocean's brink 

When the evening sun was low; 
The sky was ablaze with its crimson tints. 

And the waves played at our feet. 
As it sank to rest in the far-off west 

Where the clouds and ocean meet. 

And O for the hours that were dreamed away. 

With nothing at all to do, 
'Mong the golden fruit and the palms and flowers 

A^nd the shady seats for two! 



THE PALACE BY THE SEA. 43 

And O for the stories Old Ocean heard 

At the setting of the sun, 
And the thrill of bliss at the first sweet kiss 

When a maiden's heart was won! 



What wonderful melodies floated round 

On the perfume laden air, 
For our hearts were teeming with happiness 

And never a thought of care 
As we listened to Nature's lullaby — 

'T was ever a song of love — 
In the sighing breeze and the swaying trees 

And the silent stars above. 



O palace of sunshine and winter flowers, 

Of music and laughter gay, 
Where the hours so peacefully glide along 

And life is a holiday; 
Where the sound of sorrow is never heard 

And poverty cometh not, 
'T is the joys of life but never the strife 

That dwell in that sunny spot! 



Tonight as I sit by my pine log fire 

'Mid the storm-swept northern hills, 
In fancy I 'm watching the Christmas ball, 

My pulse to the music thrills. 
For a moment the years have backward rolled, 

A glimpse of the past I see, 
'T is a vision bright in the fading light, — 

Coronado by the sea. 



44 THE PALACE BY THE SEA. 

The teardrops fall for the old-time friends 

Who have passed beyond our reach; 
For the happy days of the long ago 

On that California beach. 
These photographs and their memories sweet 

Are all that are left to me 
Of a vanished scene when I was a queen 

In a palace by the sea. 



GILMAN HILL. 45 



OILMAN HILL. 

(Meredith, N. H.) 

Standing near a clump of pine trees on the top of Gilman Hill, 
Looking northward, southward, westward, or whichever way 
you will, 
You can see a wondrous picture painted by the hand of Time, 
A delightful panorama of a rural landscape fine. 



Sloping downward all around you pastures green and timber- 
land. 
Thickly wooded vales and hillsides stretch away on either hand, 
Pretty knolls and pine-clad hillocks, rocks of granite gray and 

bare. 
Flocks of sheep and lazy cattle, fields of grain and meadows 
fair. 



Snow-white dwellings of the farmers scattered here and there 

are seen. 
Quaint old homesteads, long abandoned, peep from out their 
bowers of green. 
Shady roads through groves of maple, leafy canopies o'erhead, 
Tiny graveyards 'mong the brushwood hiding some forgotten 
dead. 



46 OILMAN HILL. 

Streaks of silver through the pine trees sparkle in the sun's 
bright rays, 

All the land is interspersed with little ponds and lakes and bays, 
And beyond them in the distance, o'er the hills that intervene, 
Gleams a broad expanse of water dazzling in its silvery sheen. 



Far away the great lake stretches, wooded islands dotted o'er, 
Cottages and stately mansions, fishing camps along its shore. 
Villages upon the green slopes and the shining houses white. 
Nestling 'mid the elms and maples, overlook the waters 
bright. 



'T is indeed a lovely picture of a summer landscape fair, 
Just a perfect panorama, for around you everywhere 

Hill and valley, lake and woodland, in unrivalled beauty lie, 
And beyond them shadowy mountains form a background 
'gainst the sky. 



GRANGE iSONG. 47 



GRANGE SONG. 

Brothers and sisters dear, 
Tonight assembled here 

In love and peace; 
Let us our voices raise 
In fair New ?Iampshire's praise: 
God grant her peaceful days 

May never cease. 

Under her starlit sky 
Silent in beauty lie 

Woodland and lake, 
Outlines of mountains bold, 
Shadows the hills enfold, 
O how the homesteads old 

Sweet memories wake! 

We love our landscape fair, 
Beautiful everywhere. 

God bless our state! 
Bless our fraternity. 
Patrons of Husbandry! 
Long may our Order be 

Honored and great! 



48 GBANGE SONG. 

And may ripe knowledge grow 
From every seed we sow 

In mental soil. 
Rich shall our harvest be 
Fraught with sincerity, 
Wisdom, prosperity, 

Fruits of our toil. 



yEW POINT COMFORT CAMP. 40 



NEW POINT COMFORT CAMP. 

I know of a most enchanting spot, 

('T is a bachelors' retreat,) 
Away from the haunts of toil and care 

And the stifling summer heat; 
Away from the noise of business life 

With its hurry, rush and roar: 
This fairy spot is a fishing camp 

On Winnipesaukee's shore. 

On the shore of Winnipesaukee 
Where the playful wavelets break 

On a tiny point of the mainland 
Jutting out into the lake. 

And shaded by maple and birch trees. 
Dark woods of hemlock behind. 

There 's one of the prettiest places 
That mortal could ever find. 



Tv/o lovers of Nature passed that way, 

And, charmed by the scene so fair. 
They christened it New Point Comfort, and 

Erected a cottage there, 
With a high and spacious piazza 

Through which all the breezes blow; 
A bathing cove and a tiny wharf 

And a boathouse down below. 



so NEW POINT C03IF0BT CAJir. 

I stood on that breezy piazza 

One beautiful August day 
And saw the hills and the misty peaks 

Of the mountains far away; 
The wonderful tints and the shadows, 

The varying shades of green, 
The many picturesque islands and 

The channels that lie between. 



I watched the launches and pleasure boats 

Glide over the waters blue, 
The stately steamer, Mt. Washington, 

As it came and passed from view; 
The sweet refrain of a boating song 

Was wafted the waters o'er, 
The twitter of birds was mingled with 

The splash of the lazy oar. 



'T was a scene of most perfect beauty 

Enchanting to eye and mind, 
The world and its cares were forgotten, 

The city left far behind: 
The glory of Nature around me. 

The fragrance of spruce and pine, 
I felt by Lake Winnipesaukee 

A thrill of the love divine. 



AUNT DOROTHY'S CHBISTMAS EVE. 51 



AUNT DOROTHY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

'T was Christmas Eve, Aunt Dorothy sat 

Alone in the twilight gray, 
She heard the patter of children's feet 

And their shouts of laughter gay. 
The wind and the music rose and fell, 

Aunt Dorothy's eyes were wet, 
As over the din there floated in 

The words of an old duet. 

The past, the beautiful, long dead past, 

Came back with that sweet refrain. 
And the tears rolled down her withered cheeks 

As she lived it through again. 
A gentle knock at the open door, 

And a merry voice she hears. 
Then a loving kiss. "Dear me! what 's this! 

My dignified aunt in tears!" 

"I was lonesome, dear, and the north wind 
Was howling so fierce and wild. 
The music made me think of the days 

When I was a little child." 
"O Auntie, tell me the story, please. 

Why the music makes you sad. 
And why you have stayed a sweet old maid, 
With all the beaux that you had. 



52 AUNT DOROTHY'S CHBISTMAS EVE. 

"I know that once you were just like me, 

For grandmamma told me so, 
And that you would laugh and dance and sing 

And even liked mistletoe." 
Aunt Dorothy kissed the fair, young face 

Laid lovingly on her knee. 
"So you want to hear the story, dear, 
Of your old Aunt Dorothy." 



"Long years ago, in a distant land 

Some thousands of miles away, 
Among the rocks on a wild seashore 

Two children went forth to play. 
One was a boy of seven, my dear. 

With blue eyes and curls of gold. 
And he loved to play the livelong day 

Where the mighty billows rolled. 



"The other, a girl of six, my dear, 

A wee, little, brown-eyed maid, 
Would go right up to the water's edge 

And was n't a bit afraid. 
She told him her name was Dorothy. 

(A case of love at first sight.) 
He proposed to her right then and there, 

And stayed to supper that night. 



AL^T DOROTHY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 53 

"We built our castles of sand and snovr, 

Together we went to school, 
Together we learned our lessons, dear, 

And mastered the Golden Rule. 
And side by side, as the years rolled on, 

Through sunshine and storm and strife, 
Much knowledge we gained, but love remained, 

And I was his promised wife. 



"Our wedding was set for Christmas Eve. 

How swiftly the time went by! 
No maiden in all the wide, wide world 

Was quite so happy as I. 
The snow lay deep on my wedding morn. 

How we hurried to and fro, 
And the wreaths we made. My darling stayed 

To hang up the mistletoe. 



"We sang together that old duet, 

And it echoed through the hall 
As the guests arrived from far and near 

To dance at our wedding ball. 
My lover kissed me a last good-bye. 

And laughed at the snowflakes wet, 
As into the night he passed from sight 

Still humming that old duet. 



54 AUNT DOBOTHY'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

"The hall was bright with ferns and flowers, 

The guests were happy and gay, 
And the music floated up to where 

I stood in bridal array 
With the orange blossoms upon my head, 

'Mong my bridesmaids all in white, 
And we listened there upon the stair 

For the step of my gallant knight. 



"The music ceased, and the angry winds 

Burst forth with a sullen roar, 
And we shuddered as the chilly blast 

Swept in through the open door; 
Then muffled sounds and a piercing cry 

From my mother came to me 
In a voice so wild, 'God help my child! 

My poor little Dorothy!' 

"I broke from the girls and rushed below, 

And into the crowded room, 
And down on my knees I dropped beside 

The form of my dead bridegroom. 
I kissed his lips and his forehead cold, — 

They said I fainted away 
With the shock and fright that awful night; 

When I woke my hair was gray. 



AUNT DOBOTHY'S CHEIST3IAS EVE. 5S 

"The wind uprooted an old oak tree 

And it fell across the track, 
The snowdrifts buried it out of sight, 

When my lover started back. 
The night was dark, they were driving fast 

When the horses struck the tree, 
And over they crashed, but he was dashed 

Into Eternity. 

"They buried him on that wild seashore 

Where the icy breezes blow. 
His grave is hidden at Christmas time 

Under the drifts of snow. 
And that is all of the story, dear, 

Now run away to the dance. 
You are sweet and kind. There, there! Don't mindi 

Aunt Dorothy's old romance!" 



66 LILLIAN. 



LILLIAN. 

So young she was, so gentle and so sweet, 
In all the charm of winsome maidenhood. 

Life's studious paths she trod with willing feet 
And hands outstretched to do some passing good. 



To friends and playmates she was more than kind 
And always ready heavier loads to bear. 

Unconsciously she seemed to leave behind 
An atmosphere of love for all to share. 



Fond hearts are sad and tears of sorrow flow 
Because the angels called her home to rest. 

In all Life's paths God's human flowers grow 
And oft He needs the sweetest and the best. 



The choicest blossoms are the first to go, 
The Father's heavenly mansions to adorn. 

Weep not, dear hearts, for it is ever so! 

Her pure young soul through death to life is born. 



THE SILVKB LINING. 57 



THE SILVER LINING. 

All things are for the best! God's will be done! 

Alas! I cannot see it in that light. 
Why was it best that I should lose my son? 

I loved him. Yes, but surely that was right, 
Was he not mine, — my very flesh and blood, — 
And is not love a part of motherhood? 



Can it be wicked thus to grieve and cry 
Because my boy, my darling boy, is dead? 

I am but human, and howe'er I try, 
My heart will ache and bitter tears be shed. 

The longing for my boy is with me yet. 

I strive all day, but O, I can't forget! 



And through the long dark night I lie awake, 
Or from some fitful dream I start and hear 

His voice, his step; my thoughts strange fancies take 
And oftentimes I think that he is near — 

I feel his presence, I can see his face, 

I stretch my arms and clasp the empty space. 



58 THE ISILVER LINING. 

How can I be resigned? How can I smile 
Or e'er efface the memory of my child? 

What is life worth to me when all the while 
There is a clutching at my heartstrings wild, 

A lump within my throat, — the awful pain 

Of knowing he will never come again. 



And day by day I shrink beneath the blow, 
The mortal anguish of a heart bereft 

Of all the blessed joys that mothers know, 
And O, the misery that death hath left, — 

The hopeless longings and the silent moan 

Of hearts that bleed in anguish all alone. 



Poor mother hearts in silent sorrow bowed! 

God keep you all and give you light to see 
The silver lining to your dark, death cloud 

That peace may come to you, and hope shall be 
A star to guide you to eternal rest, 
Where you shall know all things are for the best. 



OUR GRANGE ANNIVEBSABY. 59 



OUR GRANGE ANNIVERSARY. 

Patrons of Husbandry, visitors, friends, 

All here in gala array. 
Welcome, thrice welcome! This evening we hold 

Our grange anniversary: 
Music and feasting and speeches and song, 

Promenades merry and gay. 
But even while we are the festival keeping, 
From out of the past come fond memories creeping, 
And back of the laughter some true hearts are weeping 

For those who have passed away. 



History tells how a brave little band 

Went forth and labored among 
The desolate regions of hill and dale 

Till mountains echoed their song: 
Broadcast they sowed, and the byways all bloomed 

To life as they passed along. 
The songs of the sowers tonight we are singing. 
The fruits of their toil to the granges we 're bringing, 
All over the state are the harvests upspringing. 

In friendship and honor strong. 



00 OUB GBANGE ANNIVEBSARi. 

Surely and steadily as the years passed 

Have we in membership grown; 
Bountiful harvests of knowledge we 've reaped 

From seeds fraternally sown: 
Prosperity smiled on us as we increased, 

Heaven's best gifts we have known. 
Tonight there 's a mingling of laughter and tears; 
Though joyful we know that each granger reveres 
The memory most sacred of those pioneers 

The scythe of grim Death hath mown. 



Honor to those who have gone to their rest, 

Who labored within these walls; 
'T is "ashes to ashes" and "dust to dust" 

Whenever the Master calls: 
Voices of Patrons are speaking to us 

From the grange's eternal halls, 
"Youth is the season for labor and learning; 
From the milestone of age there is no returning; 
Your light in the grange should continue its burning 

When the Master's gavel falls." 



OUR HEEOES. 61 



OUR HEROES. 

We sing of the heroes of long ago, 

The heroes of sword and pen 
Whose names are recorded on history's page, 

New Hampshire's most famous men: 
The battles they fought and the deeds they wrought 

All into romance have grown; 
Oh they were all right, but I sing tonight 

Of the heroes who died unknown. 

We sing of the men of the Granite State, 

The men who went forth to war, 
The men who have climbed to the notch of fame 

By way of the senate and bar. 
The men who went west in adventurous quest, 

A fortune to make or find; 
Oh they were all right, but I sing tonight 

Of the workers they left behind. 

We sing of New Hampshire's determined sons 

Achieving success and fame 
In far-away cities where grit and zeal 

Have made for each one a name. 
They come with their wealth, in the search for health, 

To mountain and lake shore calm; 
Oh they are all right, but I sing tonight 

Of the brothers who live on the farm. 



62 OUB BE ROES. 

I sing of the thousands of loyal sons 

Who faithfully plant and sow, 
The thousands who toil in obscurity 

That others may nobler grow. 
Oh not of the few whom the great world knew, 

The names by New Hampshire prized; 
Oh they are all right, but I sing tonight 

Of the heroes unrecognized. 



THE MESSAGE. 63 



THE MESSAGE. 

I wandered blindly in quest of Truth 

Impelled by a hungry mind, 
My soul was filled with a vague unrest, 

A longing but half defined: 

The shadowy fear of eternal hell 

Was vanishing fast away. 
And the creed-walled heaven of long ago 

Was crumbling to decay. 



My narrow pathway was growing blurred, 
My orthodox faith was strained 

By brighter lights from the paths around 
And doubts that were unexplained. 



I wandered away from my father's church, 
With service of song and prayer, 

To visit the shrines of the heretics. 
And know what was worshiped there. 



A hundred questions I asked in haste 
As each newer path I crossed, 

But 'mid the glare of conflicting truths 
The answering lights were lost. 



64 THE MESSAGE. 

The people were searching on every side, 

And often I stood amazed 
At the magnitude of awakened thought, 

The babel of questions raised. 

Weary of problems I could not solve 
And spent with the heat of day, 

I turned my back on the jostling crowds 
And the fleeting phantoms gray. 

By an unseen hand in the twilight dim 
This message was brought to me, 
"Whatever of wisdom thy soul desires. 
That surely thine eyes shall see." 



THE DREAM VISION. 65 



THE DREAM VISION. 

Conscious of a closer kinship 
With the all-absorbing Power, 

Dreamily I lay reflecting 
In the quiet midnight hour: 

Longing but for comprehension 
Of the truths I fain would know, 

Of the paths but half illumined 
By thought's fitful afterglow. 

"Father, give me understanding. 
Teach me wisdom, give me light," 

Cried my soul perplexed and weary 
In the silence of the night. 

Suddenly I ceased to wonder. 

As a Voice from far away 
Said, "My child, thou seekest knowledge, 

Come and watch the people pray." 

Then as if in instant answer 

To the bidding of the Lord, 
Broken were the chains that bound me 

Into light my spirit soared. 



66 THE DREA3I VISION. 

Joyfully my freed soul mounted 
Upward through the realm of space, 

In the distance I could dimly 
Earth's majestic outlines trace. 

Weird, phantastic, shapeless objects 
Slowly to my gaze unfold, 

Continents and seas and oceans 
Wonderingly my eyes behold. 

Up and up my spirit floated, 
Fainter grew the scenes below, 

And a something awed and thrilled me 
With a strange, ecstatic glow. 



O the glory of that moment 
Human words can ne'er express,- 

Just a dream of perfect rapture, 
Just a sense of blessedness. 



'Child," the Voice said, "pause a moment, thou shalt see 
How the people of thy earthworld worship me!" 
And, lo! the shadowy space dissolved at that command, 
And looking downward I beheld my native land. 



Glistening in the morning sunlight 
There I saw the gilded domes 

Of the churches and the temples 
God's own consecrated homes. 



THE DBEAM VISION. 67 

High above the massive buildings 

Rose the tall cathedral spires 
In a flood of light and splendor 

Kindled by celestial fires. 



Upward from those halls of worship 

Holy melodies were borne, 
Sweetest of all earthly music, 

'T was the Christian's Sabbath morn. 



Solemn bells a message telling 
Of the Father's love divine, 

Worshipers devoutly kneeling 
At each altar, cross and shrine. 



White-robed choristers responding 
To the organ's swelling notes, 

Burst the gladsome, thrilling chorus 
From a sea of human throats; 

Chants and prayers and joyful praises 
Blending all in one accord 

Came the grand, triumphant anthem 
From the houses of the Lord. 



And the sweet and plaintive echoes, 
Clear and low, I heard them come 

From the byways and the ditches 
Round the hills of Christendom. 



68 THE DBEAM VISION. 

Long I looked, and looking, wondered 
At the mighty multitude 

Gathered for their Sabbath worship, 
Bowed in reverent attitude. 



Long I listened, listening, marveled 
At the things which faith inspire, 

Eloquence of priest and preacher, 
Music, singing of the choir; 

Here and there a piteous story 

Of a man of Galilee, 
Or some new interpretation 

Of an old mythology. 

Here and there a scene of beauty, 
Stained glass of many hues, 

Fashion's queens in costly raiment 
Filling up the cushioned pews. 

Here and there in humble corner 

Destitution's lowly moan. 
Or unconscious exultation. 

Knees that press the cold, gray stone. 

Here and there a noble action 
Prompted by a thirst for greed. 

Here and there a generous effort 
Thwarted by a narrow creed. 



THE DBEAM VISION. 69 

Ah! I thought, so many pathways! 

And the fence around each one 
Dwarfs the mental range of vision, 

Hides the glory of the sun. 



Ah! so many futile efforts 
To resist each conquering sin; 

Reaching outward for assistance, 
Using not the force within. 



Yet the souls among the shadows 
Surely perfect light will gain. 

For all Christian paths lead upward 
To the same ethereal plane! 



'Turn thee eastward," said the Voice, "the scenes reverse, 
Let thine eyes behold the heathen Universe." 



And, lo! the Christian pictures rolled away. 
Before mine eyes the shrines of Buddha lay, 
The sun-kissed temples of the Brahmin race, 
The mosques of Islam in their stately grace; 
The glittering splendors of the Orient 
And fetich gods of the dark continent. 



With the breath of earth ascending 
Then I saw the thought waves roll 

Upward to the Master bearing 
Incense from the pagan soul: 



70 TEE DBEAM VISION. 

Symphonies of love and kindness, 
Patience, charitable grace. 

Reverent, harmonious worship 
From the teeming yellow race. 



Strains of joyful adoration, 
Sacrificial song and feast, 

Waves of pious contemplation, 
From the highways of the East. 



And the worship-laden breezes 
Waft the prayers to Allah home 

From the cities and the deserts 
Where the Moslem children roam. 



Strange and weirdly sweet the music 

Floating softly into light, 
Melodies of spirit worship 

From the dusky sons of night. 



Pagan prayers and Christian praises 

Mingling in a song divine 
From the new world o'er the waters 

Where the stars of freedom shine. 



Long I looked and long I listened, 

And at last I understood 
That in every form of worship 

There is something pure and good. 



THE DBEAM VISION. 71 

All the paths of faith are lighted 

By the same life-giving sun; 
Surely every god of worship 

Is the same Eternal One. 



Back to its human cage my soul returned, 
Back to the earthly shell despised and spurned, 
Fraught with a mission of sweet tolerance 
Toward all worship in its deeper sense: 
Bearing the message of the Voice unseen 
In this my vision or perchance my dream. 



"Lo! I am that to which all souls aspire, 
The cause and object of each soul desire. 
Souls are but atoms of a mighty whole; 
Life is all circles, starting-point the goal. 
The light and wisdom in a circle gained 
Are steps by which a higher one 's attained. 
I am the sun to every human flower; 
Worship is love for my soul drawing power. 
The form of worship practiced by each race 
Is best adapted to the time and place. 
Souls worship not the images of dross, 
The pagan idol or the Christian cross. 
The emblems of each worship that you see. 
Are but a means through which thoughts flow to me; 
I am the power beyond each word and sign, 
And all the names of all the gods are mine. 
The fountain head from which all knowledge springs, 
Anon the goal to which each freed soul brings 
Its earth life's gleanings as death's offerings." 



72 THEVASTEB TEUTH. 



THE VASTER TRUTH. 

Last eve I stood within the portals old 
Of that dear church where, in the days of youth, 

I worshiped God. In that protected fold 

My childish heart absorbed the germs of truth. 

O peaceful vale where sweet contentment grew! 

Where Christian birthright was eternal bliss, 
And death the gate by which God's chosen few 

Would reach the heaven that unbelievers miss! 



What joy it was each precept to obey 
Unhampered by vain questionings and doubt. 

In simple faith I walked the Narrow Way 
Unconscious of the mighty world without, 



Until one day I climbed a neighboring height 
And looked beyond the barriers of birth; 

Before me stretched a landscape wondrous bright 
With pathways reaching out o'er all the earth. 

A little way I ventured to explore, 
Mysterious forces urged me on and on, 

Hope beckoned me from many a sunlit shore, 
And larger truths the childish ones outshone. 



THE VASTER TBUTH. 73 

The vale of youth was quickly left behind 

As paths of knowledge eagerly I trod, 
Amazed, bewildered, at each turn to find 

Some unbeliever worshiping my God. 



Strange gods I found, each one the only true 
First Cause from which all other things have grown. 

Perplexed I sought each kingdom e'er I knew 
Those gods were all conceptions of my own. 

And Narrow Ways did everywhere abound, 
I marveled greatly that each one should be 

The Only Perfect Way, until I found 
All paths led upward to Eternity. 



Some truth I found at every pagan shrine. 
Some wisdom learned whichever way I went. 

Through sign and symbol gleamed a love divine. 
In tangled byways smiled faith's sweet content. 



And doctrines strange and sacred rites I saw, 
As through some shadowy vales I passed along, 

Were all interpretations of God's law 
Believed, obeyed by each peculiar throng. 



The rays of love that lit the darkest way 
Revealed devotion, reverence, everywhere; 

The very idols made of wood and clay 
Were but earth shadows of God's presence there. 



74 THE VASTEB TBUTH. 

I searched among the archives of the past 
To find the source from which religion sprang, 

The cause of each strange worship. Lo! at last, 
In my own soul the God-sent answer rang! 



The spark divine that dwelleth in each one 
Communion seeketh with the parent soul. 

The world of Nature turneth to the sun, 
The human spirit to the Spirit Whole. 



Though nations give Him each a dififerent name, 
Though forms of worship differ, souls respond 

In holy thought at His command the same, 

Seeking through earthly means the Power beyond. 

I learned this lesson, learned it line by line, 
And strove to realize the vaster truth, 

But life was spent and in its swift decline 
My weary footsteps sought the vale of youth. 

Last eve I stood within the old church door 
And watched the worshipers pass up the aisle; 

The old, sweet service listened to once more 
And Time's great changes strove to reconcile. 

In vain I tried in that strange creed to trace 
The treasured memories of a vanished day, 

In vain I sought for one familiar face. 
Life's morning pictures faded dim — away. 



THE VASTEB TRUTH. 15 

Out in the graveyard once loved names I found 

On marble monument and slab of stone; 
Some lowly slept within their moss-grown mound, 

And in Life's twilight I stood there, alone. 



What mattered now the toil of weary years! 

They could not share the mental wealth I brought. 
Those loving souls, unscarred by doubts or fears, 

Possessed the greater secret I still sought. 

But in the night methought I dreaming heard 

Their spirit voices softly calling me, — 
'That which thou knowest write it word for word 

And leave behind for other eyes to see!" 



16 SUNBISE AISD SUNSET. 



SUNRISE AND SUNSET. 

I stood at morn by the Sea of Life 

And the unknown waters scanned 
In vain endeavor to find a trace 

Of the Future's mystic land. 
O the morning sun was dazzling bright, 
My heart was quivering with delight, 

And the fleecy clouds appeared to me 

As emblems of possibility. 



I stand 'mong the evening shadows now, 
Have sailed o'er Life's stormy sea 

And followed the beckoning hand of Fate 
To the shore of Eternity. 

The evening sun has a richer glow, 

But my heart is tired, its beat is slow. 
And the clouds around the setting sun 
Tell of the struggles I 've lost and won. 



ECHOES FROM THE GRANGE. 
PART IL 



A BURGLAR STORY. 

I 'm going to tell a story of an old New Hampshire farm, 
A boarder and a burglar and an early morn alarm. 
A wild and thrilling incident that happened once to me, 
A horrible experience as you will all agree. 



New Hampshire is a lovely place, we spent one August there. 
I was n't well, the doctor said I needed bracing air. 
And Jack was home from college, so he volunteered to take 
Me to a summer boarding-house, a farm beside the lake. 



There 'd been so many burglaries down where we lived that 

spring. 
But as for burglars on a farm, Jack said, "There 's no such 

thing!'' 
The murder stories scared me, made me nervous in the dark. 
Dad used to say I 'd faint if I should hear a puppy bark. 



The crowded cars were hot and close, we had to change and 

wait. 
And then we 'd seven miles to drive, and it was dark and late. 
Jack said before we reached that farm he guessed we 'd driven 

ten. 
I did n't mind the jolting, was so tired and sleepy then. 

79 



80 A BUBGLAB STOBY. 

The farmer's wife was very nice, her house was full, she said. 
She put Jack in the parlor, and she gave me Johnnie's bed 
That night. Now, Johnnie's room was small and bare as bare 

could be. 
"Good-night," said Jack, "If burglars come, just holler down 

to me!" 



I barred the door, and placed the lamp upon a wooden chair 
Beside the bed, undressed in haste, and said my evening prayer; 
Rolled up the shade, jumped into bed, and then blew out the 

light 
And went to sleep. But pretty soon I waked in sudden fright. 



Half conscious that something was wrong, that I was not alone, 
And in that awful moment I distinctly heard a groan. 
Again it came. In sickening fear I glanced around the room 
Expecting that some horrid shape would rise from out the 
gloom. 



The first, faint streaks of dawn came through the window at my 

side. 
I stared at it amazed to find the sash was open wide, 
And something black was leaning there — my heart almost stood 

still— 
A ladder! Yes, it surely was, against the window sill. 



A B Ult GLAB S TOR Y. 81 

What could it mean? Not burglars — O! 'T was light enough 

to see 
The room was empty, but that noise, it sounded close to me. 
I listened breathless, terrified, and dizzy grew my head. 
Another groan, — it came — it came from underneath the bed. 



I tried to scream. Mj' throat was dry, I could n't make a sound, 
But leaned upon my elbow and in horror gazed around. 
Just think of it! A burglar underneath my bed asleep! 
And there I lay too paralyzed to either faint or weep. 



If he should wake he 'd kill me. O I knew my hour was come. 
My arm grew stiff, I dare not move, and terror made me dumb. 
I thought of burglar tales I 'd read, and prayed for help divine, 
While little icy chills went chasing up and down my spine. 



If Jack should come the door was barred, he could n't get inside, 
And by the time he 'd burst it in his sister would have died. 
I wondered how I looked, because I knew my hair was white. 
My teeth began to chatter, and I shook the bed with fright. 



The burglar moved. I held my breath. Then came a louder 

snore. 
I almost laughed to think of him there dreaming on the floor. 
Why could n't I creep out of bed as quiet as a mouse, 
Unbar the door and scream for help and waken up the house. 



82 A BUBGLAR STOBY. 

'T was lighter now, my courage grew, the plan was worth a try, 
Jack would come bounding up the stairs, — I did n't want to die. 
I pushed the covers gently back, slid one foot out of bed, 
Touched something warm and hairy, 't was the sleeping bur- 
glar's head. 

I lost my balance and my nerve, gave one blood-curdling yell 
And on the floor in agony all in a heap I fell. 
He seized me by the shoulder, his hot breath touched my cheek. 
"Help! Murder! Burglars! Jack, O Jack!" I sent forth shriek 
on shriek. 



The cold and clammy barrel of a pistol touched my brow. 

A thunder crash, and then, "Good Lord, Sis! what 's the matter 

noiv?" 
I raised my head, I was n't dead, the door was broken down, 
And brother Jack stood glaring there just like a circus clown. 
Behind him crowds of people staring through a sort of fog. 
Beside me on the chamber floor, the burglar, Johnnie's dog. 



A MATBIMONIAL OPPOBTUNITY. 83 



A MATRIMONIAL OPPORTUNITY. 

I 'm a granger, young and single, and I 'm looking for a wife, 
For a sweet and gentle maiden who will cheer my lonely life. 
I 've a farm all free from mortgage, ninety acres all my own, 
And since mother went to heaven I 've been keeping house 
alone. 



'T is an old New England homestead painted white, and clean 

and neat, 
And from cellar up to attic it is furnished all complete; 
There 's an organ in the parlor and a carpet on the floor, 
Rugs that mother hooked and braided, there 's a dozen new or 

more. 



I 've a woodlot in the pasture and a grove of sturdy pine, 
Lots of fruit trees in the garden, and an apple orchard fine. 
I 've some cattle, pigs and poultry, and a barn well stocked with 

hay. 
Working team and horse for driving and some money laid away. 



I have served as moderator and as road surveyor here. 

On the board of supervisors, and selectman for a year. 

And am thinking some of running for the school board by and 

by; 
Like as not the legislature when I 'm married I shall try. 



84 A MATRIMONIAL OFPOltTUNITY. 

If a fellow keeps on trying true and steady all the time, 

Well, there 's never any telling just how high he 's going to 

climb; 
So I want a wife that 's saving and not given to pretence. 
One that 's got an education and a heap of common sense. 



I am homely but I 'm honest and I mean just what I say, — 
There 's a medium 'twixt idleness and slaving life away, — 
So I 'm looking for a housekeeper, companion, friend and wife, 
For a sweet and gentle maiden who will cheer my lonely life. 



THE BBAVE YOUNG MAN IB 031 BOSTON. 



THE BRAVE YOUNG MAN FROM BOSTON. 

An old red cow was nibbling grass 

Upon our hillside green 
When a crowd of summer boarders 

Appeared upon the scene, 
Escorted by a Boston youth, 

Gallant and handsome too. 
"Was charmed to take the ladies up 

To see the lovely view." 



But as they climbed the hillside green 

The old cow raised her head, 
Gazed meekly at the Boston youth. 
"A bull!" he cried, and fled. 
"Run for your lives!" he shouted loud, 
And down the hill went he, 
The way he climbed that barnyard wall 
Was wonderful to see. 



The maidens dropped their parasols 

And ran in breathless haste. 
Nor once looked back, for each believed 

She by a bull was chased. 
But when they reached the boarding-house 

And gave the thing away, 
The Boston youth — ah! well, you know — 

He left for home next day. 



86 THE OLD (GRANGE HORSE. 



THE OLD GRANGE HORSE. 

It gives me pleasure, worthy friends, 

To meet with you tonight, 
The speeches and the supper too 

Have filled me with delight. 
Now, 'mong the many subjects which 

You Patrons all endorse, 
I 'd like to call attention to 

The old grange horse. 

The patient, steady animal 

That drags us through the mud. 
Or trots us -home at one a. m. 

When summer roads are good; 
Or when the mercury goes 'way down, 

In sleighing time of course. 
He wallows through the deepest drifts, 

The old grange horse. 

When in the grange all snug and warm 

We 're entertained and fed. 
Our poor old friend stands shivering 

In some old, drafty shed. 
We talk and promenade and eat 

Without the least remorse. 
Knee deep in snow he waits outside. 

The old grange horse. 



THE OLD GRANGE HOBSE. 87 

Some folks in automobiles ride 

And some have got to walk, 
Some have n't got so far to go 

And like to sit and talk, 
But we poor farmers old and lame 

Have only one resource. 
Our much abused and patient friend, 

The old grange horse. 



88 FROFESSOR SFOUTEM'S GREAT HIT. 



PROFESSOR SPOUTEM'S GREAT HIT. 

Professor Spoutem of Somewherenear 
Came down to lecture on Woman's Sphere 

At the Unitarian Church. 
'T was advertised in the Evening News, 
And Spoutem noted the empty pews 

From his elevated perch. 



However, when about to begin 

His speech there quietly sauntered in 

A score of women or more, 
The lecturer saw with swelling pride 
The curious interest on every side 

As the people glanced them o'er. 



Thought he, "Ah, ah, 't is a woman's club! 
I '11 give the ladies a gentle rub 

That will stir them up a bit. 
A goodly sprinkling of men I see. 
Of course not half of them will agree 

But I 'm bound to make a hit." 



PBOFESSOB SPOU TEN'S GBEAT HIT. 89 

He told them a woman's place was home, 
From her own fireside she should not roam, 

For to him it did appear, 
According to God's creative plan, 
That woman was formed to perfect man. 

Therefore, marriage was her sphere. 



Her mission of course was motherhood, — 
He 'd have that distinctly understood 

From the moment of her birth. 
He thundered against race suicide, 
Said children should be a woman's pride. 

Her jewels of priceless worth. 



All girls should be taught to cook and sew 
In order to make good wives, you know. 
For the home thought must be first. 
At twenty-one every maid should wed. 
"Of all unwomanly things," he said, 

"These women's clubs are the worst. 



"They foster manners too loud and coarse, 
They cheapen the home, invite divorce 

By wilfulness and neglect. 
Club women, alas! I dread to meet. 
In all professions they would compete 

And forfeit the men's respect. 



90 FROFESSOR SPOUTEM' S GREAT HIT. 

"Beware of the women who talk and write 
And publish their thoughts in black and white, 

On masculine customs dote! 
They poke their noses in town affairs, 
With business meddle, increase men's cares, 

And even would like to vote! 



"My friends," he cried, "I appeal to you. 
Be womanly women, sweet and true, 

It surely is worth your while. 
Let husbands and sons wage earners be — " 
He paused and suddenly chanced to see 
A woman's pitying smile. 

"My friends, I've done!" The audience smiled 
And silently they rose and filed 

Out into the vestibule. 
Where smothered feelings at last gave vent 
In most unflattering merriment 

And good-natured ridicule. 



Perplexed, the lecturer called a youth. 
"What is the matter, boy? Tell the truth." 

Boys do, you know, as a rule. 
"Who are those ladies? What did they say?" 
The boy he smiled in a knowing way. 
"They said, sir, that you 're a — fool." 



PROFESiSOR SPOUTEM'S GREAT HIT. 91 

"Indeed!" gasped Spoutem in sudden fear. 
"They 're holding a press convention here 

At the hotel, and they said 
Your speech was a Rip Van Winkle joke, 
And tomorrow morning when you woke 
You 'd wish that you were dead." 



Professor Spoutem of Somewherenear 
Decided wisely to disappear 

That night on the fast express. 
For papers he spent a dollar or two, 
And muttered strange words as he looked them 
through. 

What for? Why, can't you guess? 



92 BCfEAL FREE DELIVERY. 



RURAL FREE DELIVERY. 

When Rural Free Delivery was established out our way, 
The widow Jones's boy he hailed the carrier one day; 
He had some letters in his hand. "Say, Mister, if yer please. 
Me mother said ter ax yer fer to put some stamps on these." 



"Whoa, there!" says Brown, a-reaching down. "Your money, 

son," he said. 
"She did n't give me none," says John, a-shaking of his head. 
"Run in the house, my boy, and ask your mother for the pay, 
Four cents it is. Come, hurry up, I can't wait here all day!" 



Out came the widow Jones. "What's that yer 're saying, Mister 

Brown? 
Yer 're axing pay fer stamps. Ain't this a rural part of town? 
What! Pay fer stamps and buy a box? Oh, no, yer can't fool 

me! 
I read it in the newspaper that rural mail was free." 



THE BASHFUL GEANGEB. 93 



THE BASHFUL GRANGER. 

I 'd like to be the Master and the grange to order call, 
At seven thirty p. M. sharp they 'd hear my gavel fall. 
All the work I 'd memorize and the deputy surprise 
When he dropped in on inspection night to score us for the 
prize — 

If I could, but, I could n't! 

I 'd like to be the Lecturer and all the parts assign, 
Prepare the programs and debates, O say! that would be fine! 
And if any one forgot to be promptly on the spot 
And do the part assigned them I would give it to 'em hot — 
If I dare, but, I dare n't! 

I 'd like to be a speaker bold and stand and face the crowd. 
Throw back my head and wave my arms and speak my thoughts 

out loud. 
'T would be quickly understood that my arguments were good, 
And I 'd have 'em all applauding at my speech, you bet I would — 
If I could, but, I could n't! 



I 'd like to be the Overseer and lean back in my chair 
And try to 'pear sort o' unconcerned as though I did n't care. 
With Pomona by my side I would take a moonlight ride, 
And maybe I 'd ask sweet Flora if some day she 'd be my bride — 
If I dare, but, I dare n't! 



94 THE BASHFUL GBANGEB. 

I 'd like to be the Deputy and all the grangers meet, 

Spend all my time a-visiting and get good things to eat; 

Tell 'em what they ought to do, give 'em smiles and handshakes 

too, 
In a kind and genial manner criticise the work they do — 
If I could, but, I could n't! 



Because, you see, I 'm bashful, and I sit back out o' sight, 
For if the Master called on me I 'd almost die o' fright, 
And it stifles all the yearning to expose some of my learning, 
O I 'd like to find an outlet for the talents in me burning! — 
If I dare, but, I dare n't! 



CUPID'S SUMMEB OUTING. 95 



CUPID'S SUMMER OUTING. 

Young Cupid arose one July morn 
And mused awhile in the early dawn, 

"Vacation! I must be gone. 
The city market is dull," said he, 
"I 'U take a trip through the north country, 
'Mong the hills and lakes there 's work for me, 
And the preachers later on." 



He packed his quiver with arrows new 
And straight to the mountains north he flew. 

To a large resort hotel; 
And when he left there were downcast eyes 
And tell-tale blushes and happy sighs, 
Congratulations and much surprise. 

O he knew his business well! 



He hovered above a fashing camp 
And shot the fisher, a lonely tramp 

With a title o'er the sea. 
"Ah, Cupid!" he cried. "What is my fate?" 
"A winsome maiden of rich estate," 
Said Cupid. "Old man, draw in your bait." 

And the fishes danced in glee. 



96 CUPID'S SU3IMEB OUTING. 

Then gaily circling the lakes around 
A summer school near the shore he found. 
"Ha, ha! Now I '11 have some fun. 
|*Much learning is apt to cause delay 
In heart affairs, so the wise ones say. 
I '11 change their studies somewhat today." 
And he shot them one by one. 

Out came the principal in a rage. 
"O Cupid! These boys are not of age. 

Dear me! What are you doing? 
Don't shoot at random. O please beware! 
Some bachelor maids have a camp up there. 
For nonsense we have no time to spare. 

Don't send my boys a-wooing." 

Said Cupid, "Don't make so much ado, 
I 've got an arrow, my friend, for you." 

And then in a cot near by 
A dainty spinster he quickly spied. 
"Get out of my sight, you imp!" she cried. 
"You shot me once and my lover died, 
I '11 never marry, not I. 

"No schoolmaster shall come courting me." 
"Fair madam, all that you want," said he, 

"Is a chance to change your mind." 
The rascal laughed as the bow he bent 
And straight to her heart the arrow went. 
She sank with a smile of sweet content. 
O love makes its victims blind! 



CUPID'S SUMMER OUTING. 97 

He peeped in each mansion, camp and cot, 
And scattered sunshine in many a spot 

To comfort a heart forlorn; 
The maiden forgot her doubts and fears, 
The widow looked up and dried her tears, 
And the man who had n't cared for years 

Felt a thrill of joy new born. 



Wherever he went, 't was wondrous strange. 
In hearts and manners he wrought a change 

In most alarming fashion; 
And rank and fortune and family pride, 
And creeds and customs were all defied, 
As Cupid's arrows on every side 

Kindled the grand old passion. 

And the "sweetest story ever told" 
Was whispered again by young and old, 

The happy blushes bringing. 
"Marriage will never be out of style," 
Young Cupid said with a knowing smile. 
"Love rules my kingdom, and all the while 
The wedding bells are ringing." 



98 THE S UMMER B OABDEBS HA VE O ONE A WA Y. 



THE SUMMER BOARDERS HAVE GONE AWAY. 

- They have gone, the girl in the pink shirt waist, 

The girl with the flufify hair. 
The girl who dressed with such exquisite taste. 

And the girl who did n't care. 
O the old house rang with their laughter gay, 
But, alas! the maidens have gone away. 



They have gone, the youth with the dark moustache, 

The youth with the winsome smile, 
The youth who was rich and cut such a dash, 

And the youth who led the style. 
O the winds with the empty hammocks play. 
For the youths and maidens have gone away! 



They have gone, the lady of tennis fame, 
The widow who loved to ride. 

The whist quartette and the ancient dame. 
The proud mamma and the bride. 

O the parlor shutters are closed today 

For our lady boarders have gone away! 



THE SUMMEB BOABDEBS HAVE GONE AWAY. 99 

They have gone, the man with the pompous air, 

The man who enjoyed a joke, 
The man who had traveled everywhere 

And the man who seldom spoke. 
The piazza chairs are empty today, 
For our gentlemen boarders have gone away. 



They have gone, the children and babies sweet, 
With their dainty clothes and toys; 

We miss the echo of pattering feet. 
O dear little girls and boys! 

The house is so big and cheerless today. 

For the city children have gone away. 

They have gone, all gone to their homes afar, 

The summer season is o'er; 
How quiet the streets of the village are 

And the drives around the shore. 
The country is lonesome and dull today. 
For the summer boarders have gone away. 



100 BILLY'S SOLILOQUY. 



BILLY'S SOLILOQUY. 

When the wintry days are shortest and the icy north winds blow, 
Dad and I are pretty busy breaking roads through drifts o' snow. 
When I 've chopped my stent o' cord wood and the cows are 

milked and fed, 
Woodbox filled and supper over, it 's 'bout time to go to bed. 



Sister washes out the milkpails, stacks 'em up a shining pile, 
Mother reads the weekly paper, or maybe she sews awhile. 
Round the cozy stove we linger, father dozing in his chair, 
Me a sprawling on the sofa building castles in the air. 



Many a fortune I have squandered, in my mind, at close of day. 
But the dream plans of a farmer with the night clouds melt away. 
Many a worn-out farm I 've purchased, like the city fellows do, 
Wasted many an evening planning how to fix 'em up anew. 



Rich I always am in fancy. To the poor I freely give, 
Visit all the wondrous places where the summer boarders live, 
And pretend she's glad to see me, for I 'm dressed in city style. 
With a diamond in my necktie and an automobile smile. 



BILLY'S SOLILOQUY. 101 

She was pretty as a picture, always dressed in snowy white. 
Ever since she went last August I have thought of her a sight, — 
How she used to come a smiling, sort o' making fun o' me. 
Asking me the strangest questions 'bout most everything she' d 
see. 



Used to call me "Billy Cornstalk," "Mary's little country lamb." 
Wonder if she 'd care to see me in the city as I am. 
Take a fortune just to dress her, for she 's used to pretty things. 
Guess she never worked at nothing and her hands were made 
for rings. 



Mother says it 's foolish dreaming of a maid as thinks she 's wise 
And about as far above me as the stars up in the skies. 
Foolish wasting time on shadows just beyond a fellow's range 
When he 's got the living substance right beside him in the 
grange. 



Ain't attended since last summer. Mother says it is n't right, 
I 'm neglecting o' my duty. Guess I '11 go tomorrow night. 
Flora's winter school is finished. Used to like to see her smile- 
Mother thinks a lot o' Flora. Ain't seen her for quite a while. 



"Get a hustle on you, Billy," mother says 'bout half past five. 
Father comes to help with milking. "Going to grange, son? 

Look alive!" 
Sister dons her Sunday fixings 'cause she 's got a piece to play, 
And I harness up old Molly in the double-seated sleigh. 



102 BILLY'S SOLILOQUY. 

Jiminy! How bright the lights are! What a lot o' teams about! 
Promenading and collations always bring the grangers out. 
Mother 's got some pies and doughnuts stowed away beneath 

the seat. 
Mercury's almost down to zero but we 're going to have a treat. 



My! the hall is bright and cosy. Phew! Pomona's fixed up gay. 
And there 's Flora smiling at me. Ghee! she takes my breath 

away. 
What care I for city shadows with such maids within my reach. 
Guess I '11 sit awhile by Flora, for she 's sweeter 'ner a peach. 



Well, I 'm blest if dad ain't talking, — something 'bout his fa- 
vorite cow, — 
Helping out on the discussion. 'Sh! Pomona's singing now. 
Program must be nearly over, Uncle Billy 's got the floor. 
My turn 's coming after supper, when the speechmaking is o'er. 



Ladies' choice, an' Flora asked me. Felt as if I owned a farm 
While I was a promenading with sweet Flora on my arm. 
And she 's promised, — why, here 's mother, and the clock 's a 

striking one. 
"Father 's at the door with Molly, waiting for us. Come, my 



Talk of riches, why, I never knew what riches meant before. 
Flora 's prettier than my lady and she knows a heap sight more. 
Going to call on Flora Sunday. Ain't got time to sit and dream. 
No more air castles for Billy; got to exercise the team. 



THE BACE PBOBLEM. 103 



THE RACE PROBLEM. 

We call ourselves Americans and yet we proudly trace 
Our lineage direct from some great European race. 

Of course we should n't care to claim descent from native 
stock, 

Such recent savage ancestry might well our senses shock. 
American is rather vague, we are the white fruit of the grafts 

Upon Virginia's English root and that of Plymouth Rock. 



We say our starry banner is the world's great beacon light, 
We lead the march of progress on toward the goal of Right; 
Our country is a land of Hope, a land of Liberty, 
Where every one may have a chance and all may equal be, 
Except of course the Indian, the Asian and the African. 
We 've got to draw the line somewhere, on that we all agree. 



We swallow up the multitudes who come across the seas 
To find beneath the stars and stripes prosperity and ease: 
Of every nation, tongue and creed, of high and lowly birth, 
We take them in and blend them with the cream of all the 
earth. 
But tight we draw the color line 'gainst red and black and yellow 
blood 
Lest it should spoil the mixture and decrease the nation's 
worth. 



104 THE EACE PBOBLEM. 

We took the red man's property (our fathers were to blame), 
But such a glorious country, O it really was a shame 
To leave it in possession of a savage, heathen band, 
Who might some day be civilized if we took them in hand. 
The yellow man 's too numerous, too docile and industrious; 
We shut the door because we feared he too might want the 
the land. 



We gave the black man freedom, and the franchise to efface 
The gulf that lay between him and the Anglo-Saxon race. 

He imitates our virtues now and thinks himself abused; 

His clamor for equality hath bored us and amused. 
We let the negro work for us and fight for us and vote for us, 

But when it comes to marriage, ah! we 'd rather be excused. 



Americans we call ourselves, Americans we are, 
A nation of unrest that draws its life blood from afar. 
The birthright we refuse because our white pride cannot bow 
The children of a later blend will easily allow. 
Our common sense at last shall be the test of real equality. 
The race problem will solve itself a hundred years from now. 



NATURAL GAS. 105 



NATURAL GAS. 

Mrs. Swift. 
"Why, Mrs. Slow! How do you do? 

And how are you today? 
Of course you 're putting in the gas?" 

Mrs. Slow. 

"Well, no, not right away. 
We 've heard so much of accidents 

And Mr. Slow says he 
Is kind o' skeery of the thing, 

We 'd better wait and see 
How others like it first, and then 

If all goes well, we '11 try." 

Mrs. Swift. 
"I 'm sure you '11 like it, Mrs. Slow." 

Mrs. Slow. 

"They say the heat is dry 
And dreadfully unhealthy, and 

It turns the silver black, 
Just ruins all the furniture 

And makes the woodwork crack. 



106 NATUEAL GAS. 

Then, too, we 've heard it 's dangerous 

To handle or to touch, 
May blow the house up any day 

And kill us all." 



Mrs. Swift. 

"Not much! 
It 's quite as safe as most things are. 

Folks get such strange ideas, 
Why, out in Indiana, we 've 

Used it for seven years, 
And all alive and well today 

And healthy as can be. 
It did n't spoil our furniture 

That 's plain enough to see. 
Think of the labor that it saves 

Women in winter time. 
You strike a match, turn on the gas 

And there 's your fire. No grime. 
No dirty grates, no smutty hands, — 

It 's clean beyond a doubt. 
No carrying in the dirty coal 

Or carrying ashes out." 



Mrs. Slow. 
"O well, you know you always thought 
New-fangled notions best. 
I guess you 've got afraid of work 
Since you have lived out west." 



NATUBAL GAS. 107 

Mrs. Swift. 
'Why, Mrs. Slow! Ha, ha! Ha, ha! 

You 'II very shortly find 
Your neighbors all declaring gas 

A blessing to mankind." 



Mrs. Slow. 
'Well, coal may be old-fashioned, but 

It suits me anyway. 
Mebbe we '11 have the gas next spring, 

And mebbe not. Good day!" 



108 CONTEMPT OF COURT. 



CONTEMPT OF COURT. 

Alone in his office Judge Single sat 

At the close of a wintry day, 
A somewhat conceited aristocrat, 

Stoop shouldered and rather gray: 
But a man 's as old as he feels, you know, 
And the judge had never been counted slow; 
Just now he was nursing a tender glow 

For a widow young and gay. 

She 'd called at his office but once or twice 

And scattered a smile here and there; 
The judge he gave her all sorts of advice, 

She was very sweet and fair, 
And his admiration to real love grew 
When the size of her bank account he knew, 
For his debts were many, his dollars few. 
And his credit worn threadbare. 



He thought of the past and its merry days. 

Of the future drear and cold; 
He thought of the lady, her winsome ways 

And her pile of tempting gold, 
And this was the judge's final decree, 
'I sentence the widow to marry me! 
Her fortune will offset my pedigree — 

And besides, I 'm growing old." 



CONTEMPT OF COUBT. 109 

"I '11 go and make love to my bride to be, 

'T is a duty I must not shirk, 
Then I '11 bid good-bye to my debts," quoth he. 

"Good-bye to worry and work!" 
He buttoned his coat and hurried away. 
But, alas! he found to his great dismay, 
That the charming widow that very day 
Had married his dashing clerk. 



no B BONO HO PETE. 



BRONCHO PETE. 

There rode upon a stage-coach in the wild and woolly West 
A drummer from Chicago and a dude from far New York; 

They stopped at Prairieville Hotel for dinner and a rest 
And strolled into the office for a confidential talk. 



'T was pay-day on the ranches, and the cowboys, coming in 
For a little dissipation, gave their guns unto the clerk. 

The gamblers from the hills were there the cowboys' gold to 
win. 
Experience had taught them 't was an easy game to work. 



They lounged into the office where the dude and drummer stood 
Disputing in a corner with a man they 'd chanced to meet 

About rough riders and their steeds. The dude declared he 
could 
Ride just as well as any man, not barring Broncho Pete. 



Now Broncho Pete had ridden in Bill Cody's wild west show, 
Had rounded up the cattle on Dakota's prairies vast, 

In the wilds of Oklahoma beneath the hot sun's glow 
And on the Texas ranges many seasons he had passed. 



B BON GEO PETE. Ill 

With rifle or with lasso, at a game of poker too, 

He 'd made a reputation that was rather hard to beat: 

'T was said he 'd been to college, but of that nobody knew, 
And not a boy in Prairieville but envied Broncho Pete. 

Those nearest to the tenderfoot laughed at the boast he made 
And passed the joke among their friends with many a know- 
ing wink. 

The traveling man pulled out his watch, a roll of bills displayed, 
And pretty soon invited all the crowd to take a — drink. 



Bill Johnson from the Cross V. was just dying for some fun, 
He owned a wild young broncho no man had been astride 

And dared the dude to mount him. The bets were two to one. 
The dude was game, he took their bets and vowed that horse 
he 'd ride. 

The drummer backed the dude, he said he 'd seen him ride be- 
fore. 
The crowd went out to watch the fun, the horse was brought 
around, 
Excitement grew, betting ran high, the Westerners were sure 
That soon they 'd see that tenderfoot a sprawling on the 
ground. 

The crowd increased. The broncho reared, its forefeet pawed 
the air. 

The dude rolled up his London tweeds, displayed a silken hose. 
Then placed his cane and eyeglasses upon a sidewalk chair 

And on the collar of his coat he pinned a dark red rose. 



112 BEONCHO PETE. 

Then to the smiling, reckless throng he cast a merry glance. 
And like a flash he vaulted on that startled broncho's back. 

The watchers held their breath to see that fiery broncho dance 
And rear and kick, the strain full soon the saddle girths did 
crack. 



"He 's done for now!" Bill Johnson yelled. The saddle touched 
the ground, 
A sort of whirlwind followed: when the dust had cleared away 
They saw that bareback rider on the broncho safe and sound 
Go dashing past them down the road. The dude had won 
the day. 



And as the old stage disappeared behind the Deadwood hill, 

Old Hank, the livery man, came in his cowboy chums to greet. 
"Who were them blokes?" Bill Johnson asked. Old Hank 
laughed fit to kill, 
"What! Done yer up? O Lordy! Bill. That dude was 
Broncho Pete! 



HOUGHING IT. li; 



ROUGHING IT. 

He came in on the Whitewood stage and stopped at Prairieville, 

Across the register he wrote Algernon Fothergill. 

He wore a checkered suit of gray and gaiters English style, 

A blond mustache, a monocle, a condescending smile. ! 



He asked about the Cross V. ranch, its owner, Wilfred White. 
"He 's in Chicago," said the clerk. "Went east last Sunday 

night." 
"Ah! most unfortunate, don't you know, that he should be away, 
I wired him Sunday from New York to meet me here today." 



"White was my college chum, you know, at Oxford, and lawst 

year 
When he was home in London he invited me out here. 
His stories of the cowboys here, the marvelous things they do. 
Were so exciting, 'pon my word, I said they cawnt be true." 



Now 'mong the cowboys killing time around the office fire 
Some of the Cross V. outfit lounged in picturesque attire. 
"In search of truth," mused Texas Sam. "You bet," said Buck- 
board Jim. 
"Our reputation is at stake — won't do a thing to him." 



114 BOUGHING IT. 

Bill Johnson pocketed his plug and languidly arose 
And flipped a toothpick at the clerk which hit him on the nose. 
"Ah! Mr. Johnson of Cross V.," said he, "how do you do? 
A visitor for your place, sir, to stay a week or two." 



"You 're welcome, pard," said Bill. "The ranch? It 's eighteen 

miles away. 
You '11 ride a horse or buckboard, sir? We start at break of 

day. 
Ours ain't no pleasuring resort. I '11 warn you fair and plain 
You 'd best postpone your visit till the boss gets back again." 



"Thanks awfully. I much prefer to ride out there with you. 
If White can stand it it 's all right, I '11 take a chawnce or two. 
I 've traveled some five thousand miles to get a little bit 
Of real experience, you know, and don't mind roughing it." 



He left his boots, as Britons do, outside his bedroom door, 

And cowboys passing all mistook them for a cuspidor. 

Next morn when Dan explained he laughed, "Ha, ha! It serves 

me right. 
Just throw the beastly things away, they always were too tight." 



The loaded buckboard swung around, they piled the baggage on, 
Then "All aboard!" a cloud of dust, and Buckboard Jim was 

gone. 
Hank led a saddled pony round, Bill Johnson next appeared 
JJpon a restless, prancing beast that kicked and plunged and 

reared. 



HOUGHING IT. 115 

"This mare 's a pet o' White's," said Hank. "She 's gentle as a 

lamb; 
Goes like the wind." From out the barn on bucking steed came 

Sam. 
The Briton mounted warily, his silver spurs shone bright. 
"Hoop la!" cried Bill, and like a flash they disappeared from 

sight. 

Said Hank when he to breakfast came, "I guess Jim had a spill: 
Just stow this trunk and things away, they 're all marked Fother- 

gill. 
A cane, an overcoat, a rug, a suit case and a hat." 
"He wants to rough it," said the clerk. Said Hank, "He '11 sure 

do that." 



Two weeks went by. One afternoon, old Hank suspending work 
Went round to have his daily chat with Dan the hotel clerk. 
The owner of the Cross V. ranch, just off the Whitewood stage, 
Stood at the bar endeavoring a rye thirst to assuage, 

When down the street came thundering a mud bespattered 

mare, — 
Straight to the Prairieville Hotel she dashed and halted there. 
And from her reeking saddle slid a strange appearing man 
Whose features were almost concealed by bristles, mud and tan. 



The remnants of an old gray coat still to his shoulders clung. 
And kneeless rags called trousers once to one suspender hung. 
Hatless and collarless he was, benumbed and stiflf and sore; 
He tossed the bridle to old Hank and limped toward the door. 



116 SOUGHING IT. 

The ranchman spied his foam-flecked mare with drooping head 

outside. 
Down crashed his glass. How dared the wretch his favorite 

pony ride. 
With muttered oath he strode in haste across the office floor 
Just as the object of his wrath came through the open door. 



A haughty glance the stranger gave, unconscious of his plight, 

Then smiled and bowed with hand outstretched, "Ah, glad to see 
you, White! 

At lawst you have returned, my friend." He wrung the ranch- 
man's hand. 

The owner of the Cross V stared. Said he, "Well, I '11 be 
hanged! 



"Who in the blazes are you, sir?" "Ah! don't you know me, 

Will?" 
"What! Algy! Oh, ye gods! It is Algernon Fothergill!" 
The ranchman rubbed his eyes and stared, bewildered and 

amazed. 
"My lord of Fothergill in rags. Say, am I drunk or crazed? 



"This hobo masquerade, sir, what the dickens does it mean? 
A hold-up or a fight, my lord? What 's happened? Where 've 

you been?" 
"Been visiting at your place. Will. A fortnight at Cross V." 
"A playing cowboy, eh, my lord, and roughing it, I see." 



SOUGHING IT. in 

"Most interesting, 'pon my word! The men were very kind. 
I came prepared for chawnces and of course I did n't mind. 
Your foreman Bill and Texas Sam, superior sort of chaps, 
Were simply wild, you know, because the coachman lost my 
traps. 



"A smash-up on the journey out, Jim's ankle got a twist. 
Unfortunately the cook was sick, and Tim has sprained his wrist. 
We shared the work, drew lots, you know, I cooked the eggs 

and ham, 
And all lawst week I rode the range with Bill and Texas Sam. 



"I learned to throw the lariat, at roping steers won fame. 
And lost my cash at poker. Will, a fawscinating game." 
"They did you up in style," said White, "We '11 just call oflf 

the bluff 
And hit the trail together, Alge, it won't be quite so tough. 



"No doubt the invalids have all regained their health today. 
And Dan has got the things you lost all safely locked away. 
The room next mine, Dan, if you please, and see if you can find 
Some of the luggage or the things his lordship left behind. 



"All here! That 's good! Just send them up to parlor number 

three. 
Reserve two seats for dinner, Dan. Now, Algy come with me, — 
We '11 take an appetizer first." The Briton shook his head. 
"Thanks awfully, old chap, but ah, I '11 take a bawth instead." 



118 THE PASSING OF THE PASSENGER AGENT. 



THE PASSING OF THE PASSENGER AGENT. 

Standing on the rearward platform of an observation car, 
Peering through the smoky shadows at the Oldtown lights afar, 
Sad and silently I watch them slowly fading out of sight 
In the distant gloom and darkness as we plunge into the night. 



Dear old city, first I saw thee twenty years ago today. 

When the T. M. raised my title and forgot to raise my pay. 

How I schemed to make both ends meet, lived on the install- 
ment plan, 

Wore my Sunday clothes on week days, joined the Brother- 
hood of Man. 



Tried to make the people like me, catered to the public taste, 
Joined the church and prayed at meeting — O what efforts gone 

to waste! 
Paid my dues in clubs and lodges, gave out items to the press, 
Soothed and calmed the irate feelings of each tourist in distress. 



Swallowed tons of information, took whole carloads of advice, 
Answered questions by the millions, kept my temper cool as 

ice. 
Listened patiently to all the arguments that had no sense, 
Politics I never tackled but sat squarely on the fence. 



THE PASSING OF THE PASSENGER AGENT. 119 

Quoted rates and points of interest, told of our equipment fine, 
How for speed and ease and comfort we surpassed each other 

line. 
Staid up nights to meet excursions, had committees dine with 

me, 
Made a bid for shows and parties, booked their excess baggage 

free. 

Treated crowds of thirsty agents leaning up against the bar. 
Got their wives and sweethearts passes, paid for seats in parlor 

car. 
Did my business square and honest, never shirked a duty yet. 
And the fellows I 've befriended, will they miss me and forget? 

Now all this is superseded by the strange new-fangled code 
Of an eastern corporation that has swallowed up the road, 
And they 're doubling up the tactics — freight and passenger 

combined, 
And employing modern hustle of the very latest kind. 

Ah! experience counts for nothing with the youngsters in the 

race, 
We old fogies are not in it at the present strenuous pace. 
After thirty years of labor for the road my salary 's stopped, 
And worn out by faithful service, on the waste pile I am dropped. 

There 's a ladder in Life's pathway that leads upward to suc- 
cess, 
But, alas! some people climb it only in their dreams, I guess; 
And there 're lots that never see it as they wander blindly by. 
And the folks that 's in a hurry think it ain't worth while to try. 



L20 THE PASSING OF THE PASSENGER AGENT. 

Well, it 's waste of time surmising where I 'd got to if I 'd tried. 
Night air 's getting kind of chilly, better go and smoke inside. 
Fare thee well, Oldtown, forever, 't is my last official bow. 
Take thy place among the has-beens, thou art but a memory 
now. 



THE CRITIC'S ADVICE. 121 



THE CRITIC'S ADVICE. 

A shy little poet once called upon 

A critic of great renown 
In search of encouragement and advice. 

He greeted her with a frown, 
Then put on his glasses, her verses read. 
And slowly and solemnly shook his head. 



"A poet you never will be, my dear. 

How foolish of you to try. 
You have n't got talent enough, my dear, 

And birds without wings can't fly. 
Your rhythm is poor and your meter wrong. 
A jumble of rhymes will not make a song. 



"The market is flooded with amateurs 
Who think they can write, no doubt, 
Especially women attempting work 

For which they are not cut out. 
They ought to be caring for home instead 
Of scribbling verse that is never read. 



122 THE CRITIC IS ADVICE. 

"Go back to your gossip and needlework, 

Your cooking and household cares, 
'T was never intended that women's brains 

Should grapple with world afifairs. 
Attend to the duties you have been taught, 
Don't try to compete in the realm of thought." 



The poet she smiled at the critic's words 

And threw his advice away, 
For down in the depths of her soul she knew 

The slumbering talent lay; 
The thoughts that were echoing through her mind 
Must be clothed in rhyme and expression find. 



Years passed. In her songs, so the papers said, 

The soul of the poet spoke 
And touching a chord in the people's hearts 

An answering thrill awoke. 
She soared to the heights of undying fame. 
The world has forgotten the critic's name. 



'T is folly to heed the advice of those 
Who nothing but fault can find. 

Wise men do not look for perfection in 
First efforts of any kind. 

A cloud very often the sun obscures, 

All men in their youth have been amateurs. 



TWO OF A KIND. 123 



TWO OF A KIND. 

"Your hands are so shapely and white, my dear, 

So dimpled and fair to see, 
They were just intended for diamond rings — 

Will you wear this one for me? 
'T is a costly gem." And it sparkled bright, 
Reflecting a myriad rays of light 
As it circled the tiny finger white 

Of the blushing bride-to-be. 

"Your hair is so pretty and soft, my dear, 

Such wonderful waves of gold. 
Those sweet little curls on your forehead, dear, 

Their charm can never be told: 
I 'm madly in love with the golden hair 
Of my little sweetheart so frail and fair; 
Her beautiful locks are beyond compare. 

Like a fairy queen's of old." 

The truth was revealed with a startling shock, — 

('T was lucky they were not wed,) 
As he playfully toyed with a golden lock 

He saw that the roots were red. 
And she, — well, one evening beneath the gas 
Her ring did not sparkle — she found, alas! 
The diamond was only a piece of glass. 

No record of what was said. 



124 LENT. 



LENT. 

Had a buggy ride last night. 

Awful glad I went. 
Sis can't go out riding now 

'Cause, you see, it 's Lent. 



We can't have no parties now 
'Cause of Lent, they say: 

Ma and Sis don't do a thing 
Any more 'cept pray. 



Lent 's the time when women 's good. 

Glad I ain't a girl 
'N' have to go to church like Sis — 

She 's a 'piscopal. 



That 's where all the boys whot sings 

Wears a white nightgown, 
'N' the people 's all the time 

Gettin' up and down. 



LENT. J23 



Ma don't eat no meat in Lent, 
Sis don't eat no cake, 

Me 'n' Pa can't have no pie. 
Pa says Lent 's a fake. 



He took me to town today, 

I was good, O my! 
Had some meat and cake for lunch 

'N' some apple pie. 



Then he tooked me to a place 

Way down underground 
Where they smoked, and sister's beau 

Made the balls go round. 



'N' then him 'n' me 'n' pa 
All went to the show, — 

Had some phizzing stuff to drink, 
Lots of things I know. 



Pa says if I 'm good he '11 take 

Me to town again. 
Awful glad God did n't make 

Lent for boys 'n' men. 



126 THE LOST CAP. 



THE LOST CAP. 

Where is my cap? I do declare 
I cannot find it anywhere; 
I 've hunted for it high and low 
And I '11 be late to school I know. 

Where can it be? Will no one tell? 

O mamma dear, there goes the bell! 



I 've looked behind the parlor door, 
It is n't there, nor on the floor, 
Nor on the sofa nor the chairs. 
Nor in the kitchen nor upstairs, 
Nor on the hatrack in the hall, 
Nor any place where caps could fall. 



'Look in the glass," his mamma said. 
And, lo! the cap was on his head. 



MAUD' IS EXCUSE. 121 



MAUD'S EXCUSE. 

One day at Sabbath school, wee Maud 
Her teacher's pencil slyly took, 

And while the class the lesson heard, 
Drew pictures in the holy book. 



The lesson o'er the teacher said, 

"What, drawing dolls! O Maud, for shame! 
'T is naughty, dear. Give me the book." 
Then to her side wee Maudie came, 



Held up the book, gazed wistfully 
At the stern, shocked face above her. 

And whispered solemnly, "Please, ma'am, 
I 've only d'awed God's muvver." 



128 VIOLETS. 



VIOLETS. 

Only a bunch of violets 

With a satin ribbon tied 
And a faded yellow candy box 

In which they drooped and died. 
His last sweet gift. Ah, my eyes were wet 
When he said, "Good-bye, dear Violet." 



Only a bunch of violets 

So tenderly hidden away; 
Souvenir of an old romance 

When my heart was young and gay: 
I was just fifteen when last we met, 
And he said, "I love you, Violet." 



Only a bunch of violets 
That once, in a foreign land, 

Filled the room with their sweet perfume 
As he held them in his hand, 

And whispered low, "I shall ne'er forget 

The queen of my heart, fair Violet." 



VIOLETS. 129 

Only a bunch of violets 

From a garden by the sea; 
I wonder if he who gathered them 

E'er wasteth a thought on me? 
I wonder if he remembers yet 
That old romance of a viclet. 



130 THB W THE BL UES A WA Y. 



THROW THE BLUES AWAY. 

Cheer up, old man! Be happy! Don't frown and look so glum! 
Remember the good times you 've had, there 're better ones to 

come. 
Don't think because the clouds are black it will forever rain, 
Hope on a little longer and you '11 see the sun again. 



All business men have ups and downs, some worries and some 

care, 
And sickness often is to them the heaviest load to bear. 
Why fret about fair-weather friends? The old ones still are 

true. 
The road 's been long and lonesome but I think you 're almost 

through. 



This life is all a mixture of happiness and pain 
And joy will follow sorrow as sunshine follows rain. 
A spell of sickness makes a man appreciate good health, 
Reverses also teach us how to better value wealth. 



Then let us hear your voice again and see your old-time smile- 
Just pull yourself together and go in and make a pile. 
Come! face the music like a man and throw the blues away! 
You '11 live to give advice yourself and laugh at mine, some day. 



A VACATION S TOBY. 131 



A VACATION STORY. 

Only a chance introduction one morn at the old church door; 
Only a smile and a handshake after the service was o'er. 

Only a song in the evening, a song that love's echoes wake; 

Only a chat at the concert and a boat ride on the lake. 



Only a drive through the sunshine, a picnic under the trees; 
Only a pause on the hilltop enjoying the lovely breeze; 

Only a walk through the woodlands to see where the wild 
flowers grow; 

Only a stroll in the moonlight and a few words whispered low. 



Only a kiss and a promise, — 
My story is almost done, — 
Only a ring and a blessing, 
And somebody's bride is won. 



132 THE PRESIDENTS. 



THE PRESIDENTS. 

First on the list is Washington, 
Virginia's proudest name, 

John Adams next, the Federalist, 
From Massachusetts came. 



Three sons of Old Virginia 
Into the White House go, 

'T was Jefiferson and Madison 
Followed by James Munroe. 



Then Massachusetts for a term 
Sent Adams number two, 

And Tennessee a Democrat, 

Brave Jackson staunch and true. 



Martin Van Buren of New York 

And Harrison we see, 
And Tyler of Virginia, 

And Polk of Tennessee. 



TEE PRESIDENTS. 133 

Louisiana Taylor sent, 

New York Millard Fillmore, 
New Hampshire gave us Franklin Pierce, 

And when his term was o'er 



The Keystone state Buchanan sent, 
War thunders shook the realm, 

Abe Lincoln wore a martyr's crown, 
And Johnson took the helm. 

Then General Grant of Illinois, 
Who ruled with sword and pen, 

And Hayes, and Garfield who was shot. 
Two noble Buckeye men. 

Then Arthur from the Empire state 
And mighty Cleveland came, 

And Indiana Harrison, 
Then Cleveland served again. 

McKinley of Ohio ruled. 
The nation mourned his fate. 

And Roosevelt of New York came forth 
To guide the helm of state. 



134 O SPABE THE FOBESTS ! 



O SPARE THE FORESTS! 

O spare the saplings weak 
That tremble in the breeze, 

Today but slender reeds, 
Tomorrow sturdy trees. 



That growth of baby pine 

That bends before the blast 

Shall be our children's pride 
When our earth life is past. 



O spare the virgin spruce 

Upon the mountains grand! 

O spare the sheltering groves 
That beautify the land! 



New Hampshire's sons, awake! 

Let patriotism be 
The spur that urges you to save 

Our mountain scenery! 



WHAT IS THE ORANGE? 135 



WHAT IS THE GRANGE? 

'T is an order of agriculturalists, 

A rural fraternity, 
An organization of farmers for 

Improvement in husbandry. 



'T is a social center for country homes 
Where the scattered neighbors meet 

For a cosy chat, or a promenade, 
And an intellectual treat. 



'T is a stepping-stone from the district schools 

To schools of domestic grade, 
Where grangers in citizenship are trained, 

And matches are often made. 



'T is a nursery of moral etiquette, 
A kindergarten of thought, 

A school of expression for amateurs 
Where wit and wisdom are taught. 



136 WHAT IS THE GBANGE? 

A college of reason and business sense, 

A forum of wise debate, 
Where important measures are gravely weighed 

For the Avelfare of the state. 



The connecting link 'twixt the lonely farm 

And the legislative hall. 
Where united influence wins results 

For the common good of all. 



THE THINGS WE 'BE GOING TO DO. 137 



THE THINGS WE 'RE GOING TO DO. 

Last night in dreamland I secured some snap-shots at the 
future, 

Of wonderful improvements and the things we 're going to do. 
For fear the negatives would fade I copied them on paper, 

And hope we shall live long enough to see them all come true. 



We 're going to make our scenery a source of greater income, 
We 're going to have a board of trade to advertise the town, 

A few more summer millionaires to help us swell the taxes, 
A few more wealthy families to come and settle down. 



We 're going to have a new hotel, a handsome granite structure 
Of sixty rooms or more with baths, on European plan. 

With motor sheds for tourists and a modern elevator, 
Cafe and a wireless telephone to suit the traveling man. 



We 're going to have a new grange hall, with kitchen and a 
dining-room, 
Where members may in comfort talk and promenade and eat; 
With lavatories, cloak rooms, and a draught-proof shed for 
horses; 
A sanitary building where the woman's club may meet. 



138 THE THINGS WE 'BE GOING TO DO. 

We 're going to have a public park with lots of rustic benches 
Where summer visitors may go and spoon by twilight there: 

A rendezvous for loafers and disabled politicians 
Who loiter round the grocery stores and on Postoffice Square. 



We 're going to drain and grade the streets, remove the garden 
fences, 
Remodel all the tenements and tear the shanties down; 
We 're going to paint the hitching posts and concrete all the 
sidewalks, 
And clean up all the alley ways and beautify the town. 



We 're going to keep the bushes cut along the country roadsides, 
And have some lockwheel wagons made for freighting up a 
hill; 

Our livery men are going to have some small electric motors 
To take the place of horses that the summer boarders kill. 



We 're going to have same better roads with permanent im- 
provements, 
And stop the wires from ruining the shade trees everywhere; 
We 're going to have a parcel post with rural mail delivery 
So farmer's wives may send to town and do their shopping 
there. 



THE THINGS WE 'RE GOING TO DO. 139 

We 're going to have a boulevard from Boston to Mt. Washing- 
ton, 

White Mountain National Reserve to save our forests grand; 
We 're going to have a pure food law, adulterations labeled, 

And then for cleaner politics we 're going to make a stand. 



We 're going to grade our country schools and raise the teach- 
ers' salaries, 

And have a night school in the grange for rural sons of toil, 
With practical experiments of real use to the farmers, 

And scientific lectures on the secrets of the soil. 



We 're going to put a heavy tax on bachelors of thirty, 
And build a home for grangers that are old and feeble; then, 

When grange meetings begin on time and sisters get the suf- 
frage. 
We 're going to have a woman on the board of selectmen. 



140 OUB OBDER-PATBO^S OF HUSBAI^DBY. 



OUR ORDER— PATRONS OF HUSBANDRY. 

Who at the grange's head doth stand 
And wields the emblem of command? 
Who rules in mild and courteous way, 
Whose word is law whom all obey? 
The Master. 



Who shares responsibility, 
Treats all with grave civility? 
Who puts the laborers to work 
And sees that they no duties shirk? 
The Overseer. 



Who tries to make the meetings bright 
With entertainment every night. 
Provides our mental exercise 
And leads us in discussions wise? 
The Lecturer. 



Who watches o'er the inner gate 

And questions those who come in late? 

The Steward. 
Who makes the nightly test to find 
If we the password have in mind? 

The Assistant Stewards. 



OVB OBDEE-PATRONS OF HUSBANBBY. 141 

Who asks a blessing for each one 
That all our work be rightly done? 

The Chaplain. 
Who guards with care the outside door 
Until the secret work is o'er? 

The Gatekeeper. 



Who pays the bills from year to year? 
Our grange's trusty financier, 

The Treasurer. 
Who keeps our records straight and true, 
Looks after correspondence too? 

The Secretary. 



Who brings the ears of golden corn 
The grange's tables to adorn? 

Ceres. 
And who prepares the choice display 
Of tempting fruit from day to day? 

Pomona. 
Who decks our hall with flowers so rare 
And scatters fragrance everywhere? 

Flora. 



142 QUE OBDEE—PA TE ONS OF HUSBANDE Y. 

Who fill the benches round the hall 
In quick response to duty's call, 
Discuss the problems of the day 
In friendly, wise and helpful way. 
And use the influence they command 
To guard the welfare of the land? 
The Patrons. 



Who visits us once every year 

And gives an open program here. 

Whose presence is a sign that we 

Believe in true fraternity; 

Exchange of thoughts 'neath friendship's seal 

That wise and lofty truths reveal 

To fill our hearts with love divine 

And lead us to Pomona's shrine? 

County Pomona Grange. 



GETTING EXPEBIENCE. 143 



GETTING EXPERIENCE. 

"I 'm tired to death of these crowded streets," 

Said Jack, " 'T is the pace that kills, 
And I 've half a notion to buy a farm 
Among the New Hampshire hills." 

'T was the fashion to own a summer home 

Way ofif in some lonely place 
Where the only neighbors were birds and beasts 

And one could get breathing space. 

"We are both in need of a rest," said Jack, 

"A taste of the simpler life. 
And I hate the sham of resort hotels. 
And boarding-house hash and strife. 

"There are lots of abandoned farms for sale, 

They 're going for just a song. 
What say you, my dear, if we rent the flat? 
We could take the cook along." 

From a foolish person who sought to change 

His inheritance for gold. 
We purchased a hundred acres of land 

And a homestead quaint and old. 



144 GETTING EXPERIENCE. 

We bought all the live stock upon the place, 
A horse, some hens and a cow, 

And engaged a man to look after them 
Because we did n't know how. 



The cottage was white with a shingled roof; 

'T was only one story high, 
But the sills and beams had rotted away 

And the walls were all awry. 

'T was full of the relics of olden times 
That in town were just the rage; 

The treasures of Puritan ancestors, 
The ghosts of a vanished age. 



'Mid a bower of stately elms it stood 

On a hillside broad and green, 
And the woodlands stretched for many a mile, 

A glimmering lake between: 



And beyond the hills rose the mountain slopes 
Where the dense, dark forests grew. 

And the dim outline of the lofty peaks 
'Mong the clouds was lost to view. 

We rented our dear little eight-roomed flat 

On the noisy city street, 
With its lovely seven by fifteen lawn 

And its modern furnace heat; 



GETTING EXPERIENCE. J 45 

With its marble entrance, its telephone, 

And its incandescent light; 
Its bathroom fixings of latest design, 

Its parlors of gold and white. 



We packed up our clothes and hastened away, 

Away to our hillside farm, 
And raved o'er the beautiful scenery. 

The peacefulness and the charm 

Of a care-free life in a country home; 

But the cook — she would n't stay — 
She stepped on a snake and it scared her so 

She left the very next day. 



We scoured the neighborhood for a girl, 

But nary one could be found. 
For the farmers' daughters had all engaged 

h-t the boarding-houses round. 

We telegraphed mother to send a cook 
And dined on crackers and cheese. 

Then out in the hammocks we swung till dark, 
Enjoj'ing the pure, cool breeze. 

But, alas! the maids that my mother sent 

All back to the city fled. 
One did n't like ants, another complained 

That quietness hurt her head. 



146 GETTING EXPERIENCE. 

Said Jack, "If we learn to do things ourselves 
Farm life will be simply grand." 

So in desperation I made a pie, 
And at biscuits tried my hand. 



Then the hired man went off on a spree, 

And Jack at the milking tried. 
And the ancient horse we bought with the farm 

Lay down in his stall and died. 

And the cow objected to city ways 

When she and Jack were alone, 
For she kicked him over the milking stool 

And injured his collar bone. 

Then mother came up for a week or two. 

And she almost died of fright 
As the frisky rats in their promenades 

Ran over her bed at night. 

We 'd a dear little brood of fluffy chicks. 

And O, they were lots of fun. 
But the terrible hawks and skunks and rats 

They carried ofif every one. 



The foxes came out of the woods and caught 

The biddies upon the lawn, 
The w-oodchucks destroyed the lettuce and peas, 

And the crows pulled up the corn. 



GETTING EXFEBIENCE. 14\ 

That was long ago, atid we often laugh 

At our city ignorance: 
We 've labeled that chapter of rural life 

As "getting experience." 



And our summer home on the hillside fair 

Hath lost not a single charm. 
The loveliest spot in the world to us 

Is our old New Hampshire farm. 



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LBJe'07 



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Isabel Hmbler 6ilman 



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